


In my dreams I'm with you

by Drinktothemadness



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Depression, Fluff, M/M, larry stylinson - Freeform, one direction - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-06-25
Packaged: 2017-11-29 01:56:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 59,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/681399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drinktothemadness/pseuds/Drinktothemadness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Louis Tomlinson is still trying to move on from his dark past until a car crash leaves him in a coma and he slips into an alternate reality where he lives with H, a beautiful boy with chocolate curls and emerald eyes who cooks him breakfast and kisses him sweetly, and where he plays football semi-professionally and is no longer reliant on Zoloft to get him out of bed in the morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Based on these lyrics from Rhianna's 'Lost in Paradise';
> 
> "All my fears gone tonight  
> Let me stay, I'm lost in paradise"

The summer before Louis started his second year of university, the doctors changed his medication from 20mg of Zoloft to 30mg of Mirtazapine. He barely noticed the difference at first, because nothing seemed to change; he still spent the first few weeks lying in bed at night staring up at the ceiling until dawn broke. But then one day completely out of the blue, after July had come and gone in a blur, he woke up in the morning and realised that he’d slept right through the night. Not entirely soundlessly, but he’d slept all the same. And that in itself felt like a victory, however small.

That was the same night he had his first dream in over a decade. He couldn’t remember all of it, just bits and pieces; the sunlight in a meadow, the vivid wing of a butterfly, lying on the grass with Zayn and his two friends Niall and Liam, the nice ones, and he remembered running across a pitch, and the taste of strawberry ice cream so real on his tongue. And _laughing_. Real, proper belly-laughing like he hadn’t done in years.

He kept on dreaming, after that. At night, he slipped away into a different world where things were in technicolour and his chest didn’t hurt and in the morning he woke back up again into a cold, harsh reality.

 

* * *

 

The day of the accident started like any other. He woke up at half past nine on the dot to bright wintery sunlight spilling into his cramped University room. He stood under the hot spray of the shower for far too long, until his tanned skin was tinged pink and his shoulders stung. He pulled on his usual dark trousers and plain t-shirt, meticulous folded in his drawers, and towel dried his hair. He stood in the front of the bathroom mirror and tried not to get lost in the emptiness of his reflection.

He sat at the breakfast table and ate his one slice of toast, plain and cut into perfect quarters, and drunk his tea. He brushed his teeth without looking in the mirror, packed his bag for the day’s lectures and laced up his Toms. Then he sat outside on the doorstep, hands folded on his lap, and waited for Zayn.

“Shit, Lou,” Zayn swore when he opened the front door, almost tripping over his friend in the process.

“Sorry.”

“It’s…it’s fine, mate,” he said, shaking his head and regaining his cool composure. “How long have you been out here?”

Louis blinked up at him. “I…I don’t know.”

Zayn’s eyes fluttered closed for a fleeting moment. “Alright. Let’s just go, yeah?”

They walked together in silence to where his scarlet Corsa was parked haphazardly half-on half-off the curb. Neither of them said a word as they climbed in or as they pulled away and out onto the main road. Zayn had his gaze trained forward on the road, but his eyes were clouded and he was chewing the inside of his bottom lip like he did when he had something he needed to say that he didn’t want to say. Louis knew that expression well. He knew _everything_ about Zayn well. He’d catalogued every single detail over the past twelve years that they’d known each other, and he’s stored them safely right at the back of his mind. Just behind the Do Not Open compartment, the one where he’d hidden all the things he wanted to forget about the first sixteen years of his life.

“What time do you finish?” he asked eventually.

“Three.”

“You want a lift?”

Louis glanced across at him. “No it’s…it’s fine. I can walk.”

“There’s rain forecast for noon.”

“I don’t mind.”

Zayn tried desperately hard not to sigh or to punch the steering wheel or to scream long and hard and loud until whoever it was up there decided to fucking listen for once. He’d seen Louis up and he’d seen Louis down, but _this_ Louis was the worst. This new Louis was just on autopilot. His life was a routine. Wake up, make it through the day, go to bed. Over and over and over again. It was the change in meds, obviously, because since they’d come back from summer Louis had gone from crying over the smallest things to never crying at all, and he’d gone from being an insomniac to falling asleep on the sofa at eight o’clock in the evening. But even though Zayn had hated never knowing whether something he said would have Louis in tears, it was preferable to _this_. It was preferable to Louis not feeling anything at _all_.

“It’s not a big deal,” he said, his voice gentle. “I can drive you back to the flat and still be back in time for training.”

Louis shook his head. “I don’t mind walking, Zayn.”

“Lou,” Zayn said a little too sharply. “I’ll be there at three, okay?”

Louis tore his eyes away from the side of Zayn’s face and focused them instead on his hands, tucked neatly into his lap and shaking like always. “Okay.”

And Zayn nearly sighed at that too, because even through all the shit he put up with when they were younger Louis was never this meek, this reluctant to argue or stand up for himself. Which was stupid, really, because Zayn didn’t _want_ him to walk back in the rain and he didn’t _want_ to argue with him. He just wished he still had it in him to.

They drove on in silence. Zayn tapped his fingers lightly across the steering wheel, pulled up to the crossroads, stared at the red light and waited.

“Michael Underbank got dropped from the team last week,” Zayn said conversationally.

It took Louis a little while to answer. “Oh?”

“Yeah. So they’re looking for a striker. If, you know, you’re interested or anything.”

“Maybe, yeah.”

Zayn studied the side of his face with his eyebrows pulled tightly together into a frown. “Okay,” he said then, with the smallest of sighs. “It’s up to you.”

It was the same old argument, just with slightly different words and a slightly different backdrop. Often it was Niall who pressed the matter, because he was better at it. _Join the football team, Louis. Okay. There are football try-outs this weekend, Louis, you should come along. Yeah, I will. Hey Louis, you still haven’t tried out for the team. Louis why don’t you listen? Louis why can’t you just_ try _?_

“You’re good enough,” Zayn said then, his voice soft. “I swear to god you are.”

Football had been Louis' only escape when they were growing  up. The two of them would sneak off to their own private field and practice; practice running and kicking the ball and playing keeper in a goal fashioned out of fallen branches. And Louis was _good_. He'd tried telling him enough times, but he didn't want to hear it. Or maybe he _couldn't_ hear it. Maybe he was so used to people telling him he was useless and shit and pathetic that he could never really believe otherwise.

Louis held his breath until his head swam, until his lungs burned and he couldn’t think straight. “Thanks,” he managed eventually, and then let all the air come rushing out at once.

The traffic lights flashed from red to green. Zayn took off the handbrake and pushed the gearstick into first. “So,” he said as they pulled away. “The boys are coming over tonight if you want to-”

-he was cut short by the car that came hurtling into the passenger side of the car, horn blaring, the sound of tires screeching across tarmac audible even over the shitty pop music on his worn-out radio. He couldn’t remember the name of the song if he tried, couldn’t remember the conversation they’d been having or what either of them had been wearing – but he would _never_ forget the image of Louis’ entire body catapulting forward and colliding with the windscreen. Wouldn’t forget the way he seemed to crumple up like paper, suddenly so small and fragile. Wouldn’t forget the way the shards of broken glass came raining down on them like raindrops. Wouldn’t forget the feeling of a second vehicle shunting the rear of his car, or the thud of his own forehead on the steering wheel before everything went black.

Everything was in slow motion, from the spinning of the wheels on the upturned car as it came to rest in the middle of the street to the halting of traffic. 

 _Hold me still_ , Mumford and Sons carried on singing out from the radio, the only noise in a chaotic world that had very suddenly gone unnervingly silent and still; _bury my heart next to yours._ _  
_

* * *

 

When Louis woke up, he wasn’t in his bed. Or, rather, not his _usual_ bed. The sunlight spilled into the room through a gap in the curtains, sending bright beams across the room like it did every morning. Not _his_ room this time though, except…except that _was_ his calendar, hanging off the chest of drawers, and those _were_ his posters on the wall. And the pile of shoes in the corner were very much his too; no one he knew owned quite _that_ many pairs of Toms.

He could feel the panic creeping up on him. The anxiety that worked its way into his veins and spread out through his entire body, that sent his breathing off-kilter and made his throat tighten. Where _was_ he? And why couldn’t he remember getting there? And why was this room filled with all his things, and why, when it made absolutely _no_ sense, could he not shake the feeling of familiarity?

A sudden buzzing noise made him jump out of his skin. He scrambled around, finally laying eyes on his mobile, left plugged in on the bedside table. He leant across and took it in his hands, relishing the familiar weight of it in his hands. It was a text message. No one ever texted him; if Zayn wanted something, he just phoned him up. Louis opened it warily, gathering the duvet up around his neck.

 _Wake up sleepyhead_ , it read. _Your breakfast is on the table. H x_

Louis didn’t recognise the number and he didn’t know anybody called ‘H’, but that wasn’t what had him blinking in surprise. Breakfast? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten breakfast. He didn’t _do_ breakfast, even when Zayn got all tight lipped about it and lectured him about it being _the most important meal of the day, Louis, for christ’s sake_.

There was something about the situation that felt unfathomably homely, something Louis couldn’t put his finger on. But the anxiety attack had subsided and now that he just sat there and thought about it, he realised he felt _good_. Good in a way he couldn’t really describe. Good in a way he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

Perhaps that’s why, without really knowing why, he shucked back his covers and padded bare foot out of his room and out into the hallway. He could hear the sounds of a radio playing quietly from the end of the corridor – not the shitty pop music that Zayn favoured, but something sweeter, something softer.

The kitchen was empty. Empty and about a thousand times cleaner than the one he shared with Zayn. There was a single place laid at the table, with a glass of orange juice, a full English fry up and a steaming mug of milky tea. The radio was balanced on top of the fridge, and Louis decided to leave it on even though the thought of mixing music and eating usually made his skin prickle. He liked the sound of it; it made him feel safe.

He stared at his phone endlessly while he made his way through three mugs of tea – because let’s face it, the brew was as close to perfect as he’d ever tasted, and no one except his own mother indulged him enough to let him drink more than one cup in a sitting, so the fact that someone had left him a whole _teapot_ full was a miracle in itself.

 _Thanks for the food, it was yummy_ he typed out eventually, and then added a single kiss more out of politeness than anything else. The reply came back within moments, and left his head reeling all over again.

_You’re welcome love! See you at the game, boo. H xx_

* * *

Zayn turned up at the flat just after two o’clock. He’d let himself into the flat with a spare key, apparently, and was in the kitchen making himself a sandwich when Louis found him.

“Alright?” he said through a mouthful of bread, and Louis could’ve kissed him for being so familiar. Not exactly the same as Louis remembered, but familiar all the same; his hair was longer and his chin covered in more stubble, but that aside he was the same boy he'd grown up with. He looked different himself; more filled out, more _healthy_. It was the first time in a long, long while that Louis had been able to look at his reflection in a mirror without freaking out.

He took a deep breath and smiled. “Yeah, I think I am.”

“Good. Got your bag ready? We’re already running late.”

Louis just nodded and headed back to the bedroom he’d woke up in, where he was sure he’d seen a red duffel bag earlier in the day. Yes, there it was, on the chair in the corner. He unzipped it a little to peek inside, and his eyebrows shot upwards in surprise. Football boots, shorts and socks? A _towel_? When his mysterious texter, his H, had told him that they would see him at the game it never even crossed his mind that he would actually be _playing_. Because Louis didn't play. Louis stood on the sidelines and watched and wished he had the courage to  go to try-outs, wish he had the strength to commit to something like a team without having to worry about letting people down.

Then again, the Louis he knew didn't eat _breakfast_ , either.

He followed Zayn down out of the apartment and out to the car - and Christ, since when did Zayn have a _Mazda_? He threw his bag into the boot alongside Zayn's and then climbed into the passenger seat. The car still smelt new, a mixture of leather and spring-breeze air freshener, and Louis felt himself relaxing into the plush seat. Zayn had never been a _bad_ driver, exactly, but the car Louis knew was so old and battered that he used to feel every single bump they drove over in the back of his skull. The Mazda, however, drove so smoothly that it barely felt like they were moving at all. 

A few minutes into the journey, Louis became aware of the fact that he was being watched. He looked out of the corner of his eye and caught sight of Zayn studying his profile, brown eyes searching every inch of Louis' tanned skin before looking away. Louis shrugged it off, ignored it, forgot about it, until he felt Zayn's gaze fall back on him.

“What?” Louis said eventually. “Why do you keep _staring_ at me like that?!”

Zayn tore his eyes away sheepishly, licking his lips and focusing on the stretch of road ahead of them. “Sorry mate. It’s just…I’m still getting used to it, you know? You look good. You look _really_ good. It’s nice.”

Louis smiled down into his lap. “Thanks. I guess.”

“Yeah,” Zayn said. And after that he stopped staring, mostly – aside from the few sideways glances he kept throwing Louis’ way when he thought he wasn’t looking.

 

* * *

 

They arrived at the football stadium a little over twenty minutes later. It wasn’t one Louis recognised, but he didn’t feel the usual creeping anxiety he typically got around new places. Zayn parked the car in a spot in the very corner, tucked out of the way, and then killed the engine.

“Now Lou,” he said sternly, turning in his seat to face him. “I need you to make me a promise.”

Louis eyed him warily. “…okay?”

“When we win today – and we _are_ going to win – I want you to spend the winners bonus on drinks, okay? You’re coming out with us. You and H are both coming out, so don’t even bother arguing about it. We’re going to make a night of it, yeah? And probably blow all the cash in one go.”

“Cash?” Louis frowned. “How much?”

“Two hundred,” Zayn grinned, looking amused. “Like every win, yeah?”

“Two hundred,” he echoed dumbly. So he didn’t just play football, he _played_ it. Professionally, or _semi_ -professionally at least. “Two hundred pounds just for winning a game.”

“Yeah, well. Let’s just hope Coach doesn’t give it to us in fifties again. That just makes paying awkward, and I fully intend for both of us to spend every single penny in as little hassle as possible.”

“Every penny?” Louis squeaked, and Zayn let out a barking laugh.

“Wouldn’t be the first time, eh?” he said, raising an eyebrow suggestively. Louis wished he knew what Zayn was referring to, if only so that he could believe that he, Louis Tomlinson, had actually made it in and out of a bar without hyperventilating, let alone that he’d spent two hundred quid in there too.

Louis followed Zayn’s lead and climbed out of the car, retrieving his duffel bag from the boot and slinging it over his shoulder. He slid his aviators onto his face to soften the glare of the sun. It was the perfect weather for football though, he noted. The skies were clear and bright and there was no sign of rain, which was saying a lot for England. As they crossed the car park, Louis could feel his stomach twisting itself into knots. Not the bad kind, though. The good kind. Excited knots. Had his stomach ever twisted itself into _excited_ knots before? He didn’t think so; he thought he would remember.

“Hey Lou,” Zayn said then, elbowing him lightly in the ribs to get his attention. “Look who it is.”

Louis followed Zayn’s gaze until his eyes landed on the tall, lean boy resting against the gate. He had a headful of wild, unruly curls, creamy porcelain skin, and obscenely pink lips that were curled upwards in the widest, brightest smile he’d ever seen on a human being. He was so good looking it all but took his breath away…and he was looking straight at Louis. Smiling at Louis. Smiling _for_ Louis.

And then suddenly _he_ too was familiar. He was familiar and he comforting and he was _home_ , and before he even realised what he was doing Louis was sprinting across the final stretch of tarmac that separated them and throwing himself into his arms.

“Hey!” the boy laughed, wrapping his long arms around Louis and holding him tight. His voice was low and velvety, and his breath tickled his ear in a way that sent shivers down his spine. “You alright, Lou?”

“Yeah,” Louis blushed, hanging his head and putting space between them. He didn’t know where his next words came from, but he knew he meant them all the same. “…just glad to see you.”

The boy’s face softened, and he beckoned Louis forward into a second, more gentle embrace. “Hey,” he mumbled into his ear. “I’m glad to see you too.”

“H!” someone called from behind them, and the boy let him go to turn around. So _this_ was the mysterious H. The person he shared his flat with, who sent him cute texts and cooked him breakfast in the morning. A renewed warmth started pooling in his stomach. This was H and _Christ_ was he beautiful.

“Yeah?” H answered.

“Coach wants you.”

H turned around to look at him and rolled his eyes. Louis resisted the urge to get lost in his eyes, but it was hard when they were so bright and green and filled with soft affection. “Fucking Captain duties. I’ll see you in the changing rooms, yeah? Niall’s got your shirt.”

Louis perked up at the sound of Niall’s name. “Sure,” he said quickly, suddenly eager to see Zayn’s little Irish friend. He liked Niall. Niall had always made a concerted effort to include him in conversation, asking questions and encouraging answers no matter Louis’ mood or his state of mind. “Catch you later.”

“Lou!” H called after him, catching hold of his arm with a strong hand and pulling him back round to face him. He looked around hastily, and then ducked down to press a fleeting, chaste kiss to Louis’ lips. He smiled at him as he pulled away, and it was the most perfect thing Louis had ever seen.

“I…um…” Louis stammered, and turned on his heels, his face flushing even darker. 

 

* * *

 

They won the game, just like Zayn promised they would. They won by three whole goals, two of which Louis himself had scored. And H had run across the pitch to congratulate him, and the crowd – the _crowd_! – had cheered waved and chanted his name over and over again and he’d waved back at them until his face hurt from smiling so much.

He was good at it. He was actually _good_ at football, just like Zayn always assured him he was. And Zayn was good too, obviously, and so was Niall, and H was just in a different league completely. And Liam was there too, standing by the dugout with Zayn’s water bottle and smiling sheepishly at him whenever he looked his way. Zayn smiled just as sheepishly back, and that was new too, but not _entirely_ new because Louis had always sort of _guessed_. And if this was some sort of alternate universe where he ate breakfast and played semi-professional football and was at least _halfway_ in love with a boy called H then it made sense that _Zayn_ should be happy too. God knows he deserved it, after all he’d put up with.

The five of them went straight to the bar, after they’d showered and had their team talk and said goodbye to Coach and the rest of the team, two hundred pound in each of their pockets – in twenties, thank god.

“Beer?” Zayn asked Louis as they waited by the bar to be served.

Louis frowned up at him, pushing his fringe back out of his eyes. “I can’t. Not with my meds.”

“Meds?” he echoed, frowning straight back. “What, are you sick? Has H got you dosed up on ibuprofen again?”

Louis just stared at him. When it hit him, it hit him hard – the realisation that Zayn was being totally serious. There were no meds. No Zoloft and no Mirtazapine, no nothing. For the first time in years, Louis wasn’t on antidepressants and he was _just fine_. He didn’t have the familiar creeping feeling of anxiety at the back of his mind, and he wasn’t having withdrawals, either. He was clean, and he was fine. He was doing absolutely fine without the help of medication, and that was overwhelming, that was _way_ too huge to comprehend.

“Yeah, okay,” he said weakly, sinking down onto the bar stool behind him. “Beer it is.”

They didn’t spend every single penny, in the end, but they spent more than enough. By the time the five of them were piling into a taxi at 3am they were all well and truly wasted – Niall and Liam a little less so, because Niall was Irish and Liam’s kidney was still fragile. They dropped the other three off outside their apartment and Zayn clung on to Louis a little longer than was strictly necessary when they said goodbye and told him he loved him, and then it was just him and H and the taxi driver. The two of them sat giggling together on the backseat for the rest of the journey, and told the driver to keep the change when they finally pulled up outside their own apartment. 

They sprinted up the stairs and were panting by the time they reached the front door, both of them laughing breathlessly as H fumbled with the key and they stumbled into the flat and into the living room. Then they were alone, finally. Completely alone. And even though H was familiar to Louis now and the flat was familiar and this _life_ was familiar, he didn’t have a clue what to do next.

“Well, that was fun,” he said eventually, because they were just standing in the middle of the room looking at each other and the silence that had begun to stretch out between them was making him uncomfortable.

The smile that H gave him was blinding. “Yeah,” he said softly. “It was.”

“I think I’m drunk,” he frowned. H gave a little snort of laughter and pulled him into a hug. Louis nestled his face into H’s shoulder, breathing in his warm, musky smell.

“Yeah, Lou. _I_ think you might be too. But it’s okay, we don’t have to be up in the morning.”

Louis raised his head to meet his eye. “We don’t?”

“Nope. How does breakfast in bed sound?”

He thought he’d never heard anything sound better, and so he told H that because he’d had a few too many to drink and he felt safe and warm in his arms. And H laughed, a low, sexy sound that Louis could feel resonating deep inside his chest.

“I like your laugh,” he murmured.

“I like everything about you,” H whispered back, and let his lips brush against Louis' ever-so-gently.

It was nothing like the kiss from earlier, the one H had stolen in the car park when no one was looking. It was more than just a brief press of one mouth against another – it was slow, and intimate, and sweet tasting, and it made Louis’ stomach drop endlessly because he’d never _done_ this, never had any reason to, but suddenly he couldn’t imagine life without it, life without kissing H. Didn’t _want_ life without it.

“H,” Louis said weakly, having to force himself away because things were stirring inside him that he’d never felt before. He gripped onto the taller boy’s shoulders for support because his knees were suddenly weak and he felt like he might collapse into a puddle right there on the floor and it was _scary_ , how much he was feeling, but he loved it at the same time. Loved all of it.

His hand flew to his mouth and he took a hasty step back, away. “Fuck. I’m sorry, Lou.”

Louis stared up at him in confusion, feeling lost and empty now there was so much distance between them. “ _Sorry_?”

“That wasn’t slow, was it? That didn’t feel slow and we’re supposed to be taking it slow but Christ, Lou, you know? Just the sight of you and the game and the drink and I’m…” He trailed off, licking his lips nervously and running a hand through his curls. “…I’m sorry.”

Louis stood up on his tiptoes to press a soft kiss against H’s pink lips. He didn’t like seeing him like this, embarrassed and unsure. “Don’t be sorry.”

“I know we said we wouldn’t rush, but…”

“It’s okay,” Louis assured him.

“I just don’t want you to ever feel like I’m pushing you, you know? I never want you to feel like you’re out of your depths. Never. Never ever. Never ever ever ever-”

“-shut up,” Louis smirked, and cut him off with another kiss. He could feel him softening beneath his touch, feel his lips curve upwards into a smile. The kiss lasted longer this time and H held the smaller boy flush against him with wide hands, kissing him sweetly and feverently , licking into his mouth, and they were both equally as breathless when they eventually pulled away.

“Just for the record,” H said, pressing his forehead against Louis’ and looking him straight in the eyes. “If you ever _were_ out of your depths, I’d be your lifeboat. I’d come and save you.”

And Louis looked up at him, and the affection in H’s eyes made his breath hitch in his throat. “Yeah,” he murmured back, but what he really meant was _I think you already have_.

 

* * *

 

Days passed endlessly.

It didn’t take long for Louis to settle into a routine. Not the same dull, rigid one he had been stuck in before, though. This one was infinitely better; wake up at leisure, join H for breakfast in the kitchen. Work out in the gym or go swimming usually with H. Train in the evening with Zayn and Niall and the rest of the football team. Hang out with all the boys or just H back at the flat. Share a few lingering kisses that Louis finds himself more and more frequently wishing would turn into something _more_. Then in the evening, when darkness had fallen, the two of them would put on their trainers and go for a run to get rid of any pent up energy before they went to their respective beds. 

(and Louis would never admit to anyone out loud, even himself, but those runs were the highlight of his day, of his week. Because there was nothing more perfect than running side by side with him, drinking him in, feeling the two of them fall into each other's rhythm, their strides perfectly in tune) 

He quickly gathered that he and H weren’t ‘together’, not exactly. But they knew how they felt about it each other, and Zayn and the other boys knew too, so Louis was happy. He learnt that the reason H was so intent on taking it slow was that he didn’t want to do anything to risk setting Louis back in his progress.  Apparently he knew _just_ enough of the sordid details from Louis’ dark past to know just how fragile he was.

H was his best friend. Not in the same way Zayn was, because Zayn would forever be his oldest and longest friend, but in his own special way. Louis wondered sometimes if he knew how his smile made his breath catch in his throat, how the sound of his voice made his heart stop. He wondered sometimes late at night when Louis lay in his bed and H lay in his own just a room away, whether the younger boy knew that he often asked himself how he’d lived without him in his life. They did everything together, were completely and utterly insperable, not that Louis wanted to be on his own anymore. H was one half, and Louis himself was the other, and together they made the perfect whole. And never once after that first day did Louis question it. After all, in what strange reality could something that felt so _very_ real be anything else?

 

_  
_


	2. Part Two

Back in reality, Louis had been in a coma for almost four whole weeks. Zayn barely left his bedside once he was discharged himself from the hospital with a broken arm and a mild concussion. At first the nurses had refused to let him in to see him on the grounds that he wasn’t a family member – at least until Zayn absolutely lost his shit and ended up screaming _I’m the only fucking family he’s got left_! and then promptly burst into inconsolable tears.

Niall and Liam came along every so often to keep Zayn company, but that was it. No one else ever visited. No one else in the whole world cared whether or not Louis Tomlinson was alive, and the realization made him furious. Sweet, broken Louis, burdened forever by the atrocious actions of a stepfather who didn’t deserve to live – because what sort of a _sick fuck_ would _ever_ want to lay on an innocent eleven year old kid? What sort of a man would _do_ the things to Louis that he had done?

Because Zayn had seen it all. Things Zayn hadn’t been old enough to even understand. Zayn had been there, he’d fucking _been_ there and he hadn’t been able to do a single thing, except hold his arms out and let Lou fall into them when he didn’t have the strength left to pretend he was okay.

The move to London at sixteen had been his idea, and Louis had been reluctant at first, even _after_ his stepdad had been jailed. That life was all he knew – being hurt by the one person left who was supposed to love him. But he went with Zayn anyway, because Zayn was his best friend, and they went to college together and then they applied to university together and Zayn never lost his patience because even when he was at his most frustrated he wasn’t angry with Louis. _Never_ angry at Louis.

And Zayn had also figured they'd be okay in the end, that they would get through this all eventually because they were in this together, and _fuck_ , that should be enough. But as he stood there staring down at Louis' body, so small and broken and fragile, he couldn't help but wonder if he'd pinned all his hope on an impossible dream.

* * *

 

It had been one of those lazy days. They'd stayed up late after the game, curled up on the sofa watching films, and Louis had fallen asleep there in H's arms. Warm and safe and happy.

When he woke the next morning, he was in a cold bed in the ICU at St Mary's Hospital.

 

* * *

 

The first person he saw was Niall. 

Zayn had left the room for the first time in hours to grab them both a cup of tacky cafeteria coffee, and Niall had offered to stay in the room _just in case_. He was curled up on the hard armchair in the corner with a dog-eared copy of OK! magazine. 

"Niall?" Louis managed to croak after several failed attempts at getting his voice to work and his lips to move.

Niall jumped so hard from where he was sat in the corner, nosed buried in his magazine, that he nearly hit the cieling.

"Louis?!" He said in disbelief, and when blue eyes met blue across the room the Irishman broke into the widest grin he'd ever seen, which was saying something since Niall didn't really understand the concept of being unhappy. "Fuck, Lou! You're awake You're...you're..."

"Yeah," Louis murmured, suddenly feeling very tired. "Where's H?"

Niall lowered the magazine carefully. "...who?"

"H? Where is he?"

Niall didn't speak for a minute or two. Then, "I don't know who that is, Lou. Sorry."

And then Zayn was coming back with the coffee and promptly spilling it everywhere when he saw that Louis' eyes were open in his rush to get to his side. He took him into his arms and started sobbing with relief when he realised for the first time in weeks that Louis was actually hugging him back. He was here, he was alive and he was _awake_ and that meant that Zayn hadn't lost him.

"Zayn!" Louis choked, and even though he'd just woken up from a fucking _coma_ , Zayn thought he'd never seen his eyes so full of life.

"I'm sorry," he said through his tears.

"Sorry?"

"I mean, I was driving the car, so I-"

"-Zayn!" Niall cut him off. "Don't. You know what the police said."

Zayn hung his head. "I'm sorry," he murmured again.

Louis looked up at him with wide, confused eyes. "What happened? Where am I?"

Zayn and Niall exchanged a look. "You were in a car crash, Lou. Well, _we_ were, but you got banged up pretty bad. They had to put you into a medically induced coma for a while, and we've been waiting for you to wake up for weeks."

He just laid there, eyes fluttering closed.

"...Lou?" Zayn prompted.

"Where's H?" he asked again, his voice flat, his expression blank.

The other two boys exchanged another, more worried look. "Who's that, Lou? Who's H?"

"He's my...my...he's _mine_ ," Louis stammered. "You know him, Zayn. You're friends. We all are. You _know_ him."

Zayn bit his lip nervously, trying not to think about the way his heart rate monitor was rapidly speeding up, the beeps loud and obnoxious. "I don't, Lou," he said gently, squeezing his hand tight. "I don't know anyone called H."

"You do!" Louis argued furiously. "You _do_ , Zayn! Where is he? I need him. I need him, I need him, I _need_ him..."

And then he was sobbing and the beeps were too shrill and too close together and then the nurses were rushing in and Zayn should've called them before, shouldn't he? Shouldn't have let him wake up and be so confused and disorientated because _fuck_. He'd been in a fucking _coma_ , for christ's sake.

One of the nurses gave him a shot of something to calm him down before he hurt himself, and Zayn stood there utterly helpless. Just before the sedation kicked in, Zayn met Louis' eyes one last time. The shine was gone, the life drained once again, and he stared back flatly before the sleep took him again.

 

* * *

 

Louis didn't know just how right he'd been when he'd wondered how he would live without H. He missed him, constantly. He missed him in anything and everything he did. He missed him when he woke up in the morning in his dark, cramped room and couldn't smell him grilling bacon. He missed him when there was no one waiting for him in the living room with a dimpled smile. He missed him when he was curled up on the sofa and there was no one pulling him closer, keeping him warm. He missed his smile. He missed his smell. He missed his green eyes and his curly hair and the feel of his soft lips. He missed him so much his chest _ached_ with it. He'd been so sure he was real, so sure what they had was real. 

He was discharged from the hospital a fortnight after he woke up. Zayn escorted him home in a taxi since the car had been completely written off in the accident. Everyone treated him like he was made of glass – which, in a way, he was. He’d stopped asking after H when he realised all he was doing was making people concerned about him, people that were starting to wonder whether if he should be heading to an institution, not back to his own flat.

He didn’t stop thinking about him, though. Couldn’t if he tried. He didn’t stop dreaming about him either. Every night he appeared in Louis’ dreams, vivid and clear, and Louis _swore_ he could feel him there, even _taste_ him he was that real. But then he went cold turkey on his meds, point blank refused to take them – and why _should_ he, when they did nothing to numb his pain, just numbed everything _else_ instead? – and just like that the dreams stopped.

More weeks passed. He stopped and went back to lying in bed and staring up at the ceiling at night instead. He stopped eating, ate the bare minimum only when Zayn was watching him with a vigilant eye. He stopped everything, because nothing seemed worth it without him there. And if the only thing in his life worth living for had turned out to be nothing more than a figment of his imagination, then what did he have left to stay alive for? What could possible come close to making him as happy as he’d been in that coma-induced dream?

It was February now. Three months since the crash, a month and a half since he’d left H. The sunlight that streamed through his curtains into his room was brighter, stronger than before, but it was still cold out as Louis waited for Zayn on the doorstep. It was his first day back to university after the accident, and every time he thought of being in a lecture hall, Louis broke out into a cold sweat and shook so much he had to sit on his hands.

“Keen to get back?” Zayn asked as he joined him outside, shutting the apartment door behind him and not tripping over him this time.

“Not really.”

“Don’t blame you, mate. Still, must be nice to get out of the flat.”

Louis just nodded once, and followed him wordlessly to his temporary car – another Corsa, this one blue and older than Zayn himself.

(“ _Just temporary_ ,” he’d told Louis when he bought it. “ _I’m saving up to buy a proper one. A nice one_.” And it was stupid and pathetic, but Louis had asked “ _Mazda_?” before he even thought it through. And Zayn had looked at him in surprised and then nodded all slowly and said “ _Yeah, maybe. Never thought of that before_.”)

“I’m swinging by the chemist later to pick up some Deep Heat for my leg,” Zayn said as he buckled himself in and put the car into reverse. “You want me to pick up your prescription?”

Louis fixed his eyes firmly on a smudge of dirt in the top left hand corner of the windscreen. “No thanks.”

“I don’t mind, Lou,” he said gently, figuring he just didn’t want to be a nuisance. “I know your signature well enough, they didn’t question it before.”

“No, I know. I just…there _is_ no prescription.”

Zayn frowned. “What do you mean?”

“There’s no prescription,” Louis repeated a little louder. “I didn’t order one.”

“But aren’t you going to run out of medication soon?”

Louis just shrugged.

“You need to take it regularly Lou, you know that.”

“Bit late,” Louis murmured. “Tipped the whole lot down the sink three weeks ago.”

Zayn’s mouth fell open. “You _what_? You’ve been off the drugs for three whole _fucking_ weeks? What didn’t you say something? Why did you even come off? Were you told to?”

He shook his head, and Zayn felt anger flaring up inside him.

“What, are you a doctor now? When the fuck did _that_ happen? What on earth made you think it would be okay to decide when you come off of prescribed medication? You can’t just _decide_ these things, Lou! They gave them to you for a _reason_! Because they help you. Because they make you better.”

Louis shook his head furiously. “No. They _don’t_.”

“So you’re better like this, then? Better not eating and not sleeping and not fucking doing a thing? Oh don’t look at me like that Lou,” he snapped. “I have _eyes_.”

So Louis shook his head again, this time reluctantly, because he _wasn’t_ better. He was worse, much worse than he had been before the accident, but he couldn’t keep taking the pills. He just couldn’t.

“So why are you doing this to yourself?” Zayn asked, and his voice was almost pleading. “Don’t you _want_ to feel better?”

When he didn’t answer, Zayn clenched his jaw. “Fine. If you can’t answer such a simple question then I’m taking you straight to the chemist after your lecture and you are going to order a prescription and you are going to start taking your medication again and-”

“-No!” Louis choked, and suddenly his eyes were wet and his hands were trembling. “I can’t!”

“But _why_?” Zayn snapped back. “Fuck, Lou! Just tell me _why_.”

“Because…because they make me _dream_.”

“They make you sleep,” Zayn corrected, and then his eyebrows knitted together into a frown. “Why don’t you want to dream?”

“Because I don’t want to see him,” Louis answered flatly.

“See _who_?”

“H.”

Zayn turned to look at him in surprise, because wasn’t that the name of the person Louis had been asking for when he’d come to in the hospital? Zayn had almost forgotten the episode completely since Louis hadn’t really brought him up again, but clearly _he_ hadn’t forgotten about it. Clearly he still hadn’t moved on.

So Zayn turned on his indicator and pulled into the hard shoulder, killing the engine dead. He turned in his seat so that he was facing Louis, who was staring down into his lap, eyes fixed on his shaking hands.

“Lou,” he said softly. “Who’s H?”

Louis didn’t answer for a long moment. then, slowly, he raised his head so that their eyes were level. “He’s just _H_ ,” he mumbled. “He’s the boy I dreamt about, when I was in the coma. I lived with him and he was my best friend – we were all friends, all of us. And life was good and he was everything and he wasn’t _real_. And I know he wasn’t real but it doesn’t stop it hurting because it _felt_ so real. _Still_ feels so real. But it was this whole new life, this better life. And I’d give anything to go back there but I can’t because it doesn’t exist and _he_ doesn’t exist and I really just don’t know how to live without him.”

It was the most he had heard him say in years. Zayn reached out and covered Louis’ trembling hand with his own, squeezing it tight. “It’s alright, Lou. You had a huge trauma. Your head got banged up pretty bad. You were on a whole load of strong drugs. There are a _tonne_ of reasons why you had that dream, and a tonne more why it felt so real. I mean, fuck Lou, you were on morphine for a _month_. That’s basically heroin, you know?”

“Doesn’t make it any easier.”

“Yeah,” Zayn said softly, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I know.”

They sat like that for a while, just sitting and relishing the silence, the anger and the tension dissolved away into the air.

“So you still like…you still _see_ him, then? Even though you’re not in the coma?”

“Every time I close my eyes,” he murmured. “And the Mirtazapine just made it a hundred times worse. Every night I would fall asleep and dream off him until morning, and then every day I’d just be waiting, spending every hour looking forward to falling asleep again just so I could see him. I can’t do that again, Zayn. I can’t.”

There were proper tears in his eyes now, welling up and threatening to fall. He wondered what Zayn, his patient, loving, caring best friend, would say if he told him that he’d considered suicide more than once these past few months, figuring that death was eternal sleep and eternal sleep meant eternal dreams and Louis couldn’t imagine anything better than a forever inside his fictional bubble. What he’d say if he knew _those_ were lengths he was prepared to go to just to see him again. Zayn would look sickened and tell him it was the depression talking and not to be silly and then he’d struggle to look Louis properly in the eye ever again.

“It just felt so _real_ ,” he whispered.

Zayn reached over and pulled his best friend firmly into his arms, holding him gently but tight enough to stop him from falling to pieces. He didn’t ask any more questions, and he promised not to try and coerce Louis into taking any medication he didn’t want to, and when Louis admitted he didn’t feel ready to go back to lectures Zayn didn’t say a thing, and they just sat there on the side of the road for a long, long time until the tears had stopped and Louis felt like he could breathe again, and then Zayn drove him straight back to the flat where they stayed for an entire week without leaving the confines of their own, safe world.

 

*

One night Louis went out for a run. 

He didn’t think about where he was going, but his feet seemed to know where he needed to be. Then he was stood in the middle of the University’s deserted football pitch, illuminated by the blinding floodlights which, at almost midnight, should really be turned off.

He ran. Up and down the pitch, steady, constant lengths. He didn’t count how many he did and he didn’t really care. He wasn’t running to beat his personal goal, like he often did to let off steam or to stretch out his muscles when he felt suffocated inside his own room. He was just running for himself.

He could feel him beside him. When he turned his head to look, he saw him looking back at him, their easy strides in perfect time, four feet thudding the ground instead of two. His eyes were even greener than Louis remembered, as green as emeralds or uncut grass after a summer rainfall. His hair was as unkempt and windswept as always, curls falling into his eyes.

He just gave Louis a nod, breaking into that effervescent grin of his with those dimples, and pushed forward, breaking away and ahead of him. Louis ran after him, ignoring the burn in his calves, and the stinging of his lungs, chasing after him until they were level again. When he managed to match his strides once more, falling back into a comfortable rhythm, H threw back his head and let out a barking laugh that echoed endlessly around the empty pitch and made Louis’ heart thud heavily in his chest.

They ran and they ran and they ran. Wordlessly, because that’s how they’d always done it before, saving all their words for afterwards. Racing against each other, competing, but at the same time giving encouraging glances and looks that say _come on, you can do it, just that little bit further, faster,  longer_. And if he didn’t already think it before, Louis knew he _must_ be crazy now, because it felt so genuine, _he_ felt so genuine and so real and the connection between them felt so tangible and he’d missed this so much, just having H beside him, but _he wasn’t asleep_. He wasn’t asleep and so he wasn’t dreaming.

He turned to look over at him again, desperate just to hear his voice, just to see his smile, and he was gone. Louis slowed to a stop, turning in circles on the grass. He was gone and suddenly the aching emptiness returned to Louis chest, except it was worse now and he couldn’t breathe and tears were streaming down his face. He had to move on. He knew it now, he accepted it now. But that didn't mean it didn't still hurt. He collapsed to the ground and laid down with his back against the grass, gasping and gasping until there was nothing left in his lungs and there were no tears left to cry, H’s name still caught on his lips. 

 

* * *

 

Winter melted into spring and February dissolved into March, and then March ran seamlessly into April. 

After gentle encouragement from Zayn and Niall and Liam, who’d been spending more and more time at the flat, Louis made it back to University full time. It was difficult at first, near impossible, but gradually he struggled through the lectures and the seminars. For the first time since he’d started Uni he actually found himself _enjoying_ some of the modules, which probably had something to do with the fact that his head no longer felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool since he’d stopped his meds.

Once he was settled into a more solid routine, sleeping came easier too. He still woke up in a cold sweat some nights, thrashing about in bed with cheeks wet from tears, but if he had dreams he never remembered them, and that was enough. With each day that passed he felt himself becoming stronger, better equipt to deal with the anxiety attacks and the creeping doubts and the trembling hands. It was a long, drawn out process, but it was a process all the same, and Louis clung to it like his life depended on it - which, if he thought about it, it probably did.

"Maybe it was just finally your time to start the healing process,” Zayn said to him one day near the end of their final term. But Louis knew it was more than that. Knew his progress was at least partly down to the fact that he’d seen what life could be like, seen that he could be happy if he just let himself try. So he _did_ try, and he stopped trying to _forget_ the past and started trying to move on from it instead.

That summer was filled with long, lazy days and eating too much – and even, on occasion, _drinking_ too much too. Niall and Liam came back down to London for the last few weeks of summer and the four of them together spent far too much time vegging out and playing football in Hyde Park like Louis and Zayn had done when they were younger. One night, on the first Friday of September when they’d all had a little bit much wine, Niall and Zayn managed to coerce Louis into promising he would try-out for the football team when term started again.

The thought should have terrified him, but it didn’t. Not anymore. 

 

* * *

 

He didn’t go to the first set of trials, because the boys had let slip that the hopeful students would turn up in their masses and that was something Louis wasn’t quite ready to deal with. But when the second set came along at the start of November, he had no chance of getting out of it.

The days leading up to the trial had Louis feeling queasy with nerves, had him sneaking out of the flat in the middle of the night to practice his kicking skills. Then it was the morning of the trial itself and he was so so nervous because really, it had all been working up to this, hadn’t it? Every step forward he’d managed to take this past year was for this. Coming off of the meds, sleeping properly, getting into shape, eating healthily…it was all so he’d finally have a chance at going after what he wanted.

Niall had offered to swing by and pick him and Zayn up at eleven and, no surprise, he was twenty minutes late pulling up outside. Not that it really mattered when Zayn had only just locked himself in the bathroom.

“Alright mate,” Niall said brightly as Louis let him in, and then did a double take as he looked over his face. “ _Whoa_ , Louis. You look…”

“Chubby?” Louis sighed. Nial had been busy lately with his course and so he hasn't been around the flat in a while. Which meant he hadn't seen _Louis_ in a while, either

“No! Not at all. I was just gonna say you look really healthy, actually.”

Louis found himself smiling in surprise before he knew what he was doing. Since the start of term Zayn had insisted that they sit down together for meals at least twice a day. “Oh. Thanks then, I guess. Zayn’s been making me eat properly.”

“Is that what he’s been taking those cooking classes for?” Niall frowned.

“He’s taking _cooking_ classes?”

“Yeah mate! Twice a week after lectures. Didn’t you know?” Louis shook his head slowly, and Niall’s lips curved upwards in amusement. “I kind of thought he was doing it so that one day he’ll be able to seduce Liam with a knock-up meal, but I should’ve figured it was for you.”

“Should you?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, that kid would do anything for you Lou, you know that right? He absolutely loves you to pieces.”

And Louis considered everything Zayn had done for him over the years and he knew Niall was absolutely right, not that he’d ever really doubted it for a second. Zayn loved him and he loved Zayn and after so many shit years and their friendship being heavily one sided he finally felt like he was starting to be able to give back.

“He’s in the shower,” Louis said instead, glowing. “Doesn’t really understand the concept of mud, I don’t think.”

Niall rolled his eyes. “God forbid someone should see him looking less than perfect.”

Louis laughed, openly and freely and loudly and the noise surprised them both a little, but then Niall was grinning at him and Louis was grinning straight back and stepping out of the way to let Niall into the flat. He followed the Irish boy through the hallway and into the kitchen, where he promptly set about helping himself to a can of coke from the fridge.

“This place is tiny,” Niall said then. “No wonder Zayn wants to move out once the two of you graduate.”

This was news to Louis, and he tried his best not to let his hurt show on his face. “He…he wants to move out?”

Niall rolled his eyes again. “With _you_ , you prick. He wants to move somewhere bigger. He’s trying to convince Liam and I to stay here in London with you, too.”

“Will you?”

“Who knows?” Niall shrugs, sipping from his can and running his fingers through the bleached ends of his hair. “I mean, _Liam_ wants to, obviously. But then we’re gonna have a problem, aren’t we? Because you’ll want to live with Zayn and Liam will too and I’ll want to live with Liam and we sure as hell aren’t going to find an affordable four bedroom flat around here anytime soon.”

Louis couldn’t quite shake the feeling that, out of the four of them, he was the most disposable. Because someday soon Zayn was going to come to the terms with the fact he was head over heels in love with Liam and the two of them would get together, and then Niall was their best friend, wasn’t he? But Louis wasn’t _anyone’s_ first choice. Louis was just…well, _Louis_.

“…anyway!” Niall said hastily, sensing the shift in the mood. “You ready for the try-outs?”

“Nope,” Louis said honestly. “I’m absolutely shitting it.”

Niall let out a barking laugh. “Don’t stress about it too much, yeah? There’s a few other people trying out too. And there’s a couple of players on the team that only joined at the start of term.”

“Like that fresher Zayn likes?” Louis asked, because Niall and Zayn always seemed to be talking about him, the newbie with the fancy feet.

“Yeah, _exactly_ like him. I can’t believe you haven’t met him yet, if I’m honest. Thought Zayn would’ve brought him back here or asked him out with us all by now. He’s a great kid, you’ll get on. People just seem to love him.”

“Yeah,” Louis said, perhaps a little tetchily, because it wasn’t like he hadn’t _noticed_. Zayn seemed to think the sun shone out of this kids arse. And he was a fresher, for Christ’s sake. How old did that make him? Eighteen?

Zayn wondered into the kitchen, still wet from the shower, towel hanging low on his hips. “Alright mate,” he nodded at Niall, and buried his head in the fridge.

“No, go one, take your time,” Niall said sarcastically. “It’s not like we’re going to be late for Louis’ try-out or anything.

Zayn rolled his eyes, as laid-back as ever. “Quit worrying. We’ll be there in plenty of time.”

They were, thank god, but only just – it was a good thing there was enough room in the back of Niall’s car for Louis to wiggle into his shorts and a t-shirt and lace up his boots. As soon as they pulled up he was being pushed out by Zayn, and then checked off and herded up with a bunch of other nervous looking students. They trained for an hour, doing countless drills and exercises, and then they were split up into two groups and pitted against each other in a five-a-side game. His team won, quite significantly, and so it was a cheerful Louis that made his way into the changing rooms and under the soothing water of the shower. It was strange, really. He’d never expected it to be so _fun_.

Zayn was waiting for him by the entrance to the changing room when he finally emerged some twenty minutes later, squeaky clean and still smiling. He pulled Louis into a tight hug, and when Louis yelped slightly in surprise he just held him tighter.

“You’re in,” he muttered into his ear.

Louis wriggled out of his grasp to look him in the eye. “I’m…I’m _what_?”

“You’re _in_ , Lou! I’ve just spoken to Coach and he’s already made up his mind. You’re on the team!”

Louis thought the happiness that bubbled abruptly inside him might suddenly overflow out of his mouth and so he bit his lip, hard, to stop him from yelling out in excitement.

“You mean it?” he said eventually. “You really mean it?”

“I really mean it,” Zayn promised. He leant forward so that their foreheads were touching. “I told you you could do it, Louis William Tomlinson.”

Louis hung his head, his cheeks flushing with pride. “Yeah. You did.”

Zayn slung an arm around his shoulders and steered him towards the car park. “You should listen to me more often, mate. I’m usually right.”

Louis let out a snort of laughter. “Dream on, love.”

“I don’t have to dream, Lou-Lou. Reality is just fine.”

And Louis stopped walking for a split second as the words hit home, and for the first time in months he found himself understanding where Zayn was coming from. _Who knew_? he thought to himself as he leant against Niall’s car. _Who fucking knew_.

Niall took forever to join them, by which point Louis had resigned himself to lying on the bonnet of the car and soaking up the last of the autumnal sun. He could hear him approaching, though – hear his lilting Irish drawl as he bickered playfully with Zayn.

“Oh,” Zayn said then, nudging Louis in the ribs so that he bolted upright, temporarily blinded by the sun. “I should probably introduce you, yeah? Lou, this is the fresher I was talking about, Styles. Styles this is Louis.”

When Louis had blinked enough times to get the blinding sunbeams out of his eyes, he turned his head to look over at Zayn, and then his mouth fell open, jaw slack. Because…because just _no_. It _couldn’t_ be.

But it _was_. The same emerald eyes, the same windswept curls, the same adorable dimples. The same lean body, the same huge hands, the same pink lips, the same _everything_.

“Hi,” he croaked out.

The boy extended a hand and Louis took it in his own; it felt warm, safe. Familiar. _So_ fucking familiar. “Hey. I’m Harry Styles. Or Harold. Or Hazza or Haz or H. Whatever, really. It’s great to finally meet you.”

Louis finally found the courage to meet his eyes, and the look he saw there took his breath away. The boy, Harry, offered him a gentle smile that seemed to say a thousand words, and Louis wanted nothing more than to bury his face in his chest and never leave. Because he _certainly_ wasn’t dreaming now, hadn’t even consciously though of this boy for _months_.

“Yeah,” he said, licking his lips. “It’s great to finally meet you too.”

Their hands stayed pressed together a little longer than necessary and their gaze seemed to linger, but then Harry was stepping backwards again and there was so much space between them. But not _too_ much. Because Louis _knew_ this story. He’d seen how it all ended, and he wasn’t scared any more, because he'd seen how happily this all turned out. Felt it. _Lived_ it. All he had to do now was wait.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading, and I hope you liked it!
> 
> [follow me on tumblr!](http://hustleandsin.tumblr.com/)  
> :)


	3. September/October/November

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where all five boys have moved in together and Louis is slowly getting to know the Harry from his dreams, this time from the very start.

_September_

The five of them started looking for a place to live in the June, six weeks before graduation and approximately three months later than they probably  _should_  have.

It would’ve been hard enough for them to find a  _four_  bedroom house in London, but now Harry was part of the equation it was even harder. It was never voiced aloud, the fact that he would live with them – everyone just took it for granted. It should’ve been weird, the ease with which the two of them moulded into and around each other, but it wasn’t. He’d slotted so seamlessly and so perfectly in with  _all_  of them that no one even batted an eyelid. 

Eventually, after several stressful weeks of searching, they managed to find a relatively nice place just close enough to the university for Harry to commute to his lectures. It had five separate bedrooms of varying sizes and a big enough garden to host a summer party in, which is all Niall really cared about. They moved in over the second weekend of September, and it was a weekend full of swearing and takeaways and bickering over who got which room and lugging around heavy cardboard boxes until their backs ached.

By the time Sunday evening rolled around, they were all in and everything was unpacked and settled, and Niall and Zayn and Liam were watching television, whilst Louis watched Harry cook them a stir-fry (which was, in his opinion,  _infinitely_  more interesting than Top Gear). Harry had turned out to be quite the chef, and often cooked for them. Stir-fry, roast dinner, curry, lasagne, shepherd's pie, spaghetti bolognaise - you name it, he could cook it. He was at home in the kitchen, slicing and stirring and seasoning, and he enjoyed Louis' company as much as Louis enjoyed his. Louis would sit on the counter, legs swinging, and ask endless questions, just like tonight.

"What's the difference between a baby sweetcorn and a corn on the cob?" he asked as Harry chopped up the last of the small yellow sticks and scraped them into the wok.

"Baby ones are small," he shrugged, concentrating on not getting hit by the wildly spitting soy sauce. 

Louis rolled his eyes. "Well duh. Aside from that, I mean."

"Fuck knows, Lou. Maybe nothing." He turned to face him, hands on hips, and blew a stray curl of his fringe from his eye. "Why are you so interested? Thinking of becoming a botanist?"

"Yeah, right," Louis laughed. "Nah, I just like to pester you.It's fun."

"Well you'll have to try harder than that if you actually want to piss me off, mate."

Louis frowned at the back of his head as he turned around to stir the food. "You are  _far_  too mellow. Zayn would've snapped my head off before I even finished asking the question."

" _That's_  because Zayn can't multi-task," Harry pointed out. "So if you distracted him from watching the oven he'd probably set the whole house on fire and burn us all alive."

Louis bit back a smile, because when did they all get so comfortable and know each other this inside out? "Fair point well made, Styles."

 

*

They five of them sat around the kitchen table to eat, after a disastrous five minutes of everyone trying to figure out whose cutlery was whose and where they'd put their plates. The food was lovely, as was to be expected, and when they'd all cleared their plated Zayn stood up with his glass of wine and announced that he was going to make a toast.

"To a good year," he said firmly. "With the four best mates I could possibly have hoped for."

And they all raised their own glasses and echoed his sentiment and started listing all the things they wanted to achieve this year; Louis wanted to keep on making progress, Liam wanted to find a real job, Zayn wanted to start a band, Niall wanted to find a girlfriend and Harry said very seriously that he wanted to fall in love, which made Louis' heart jump a little in his chest. Then Niall and Zayn started arguing about what sort of band they would be in and what sort of music they would play, and Harry leant over the table and beckoned Louis closer.

"It's much sweeter," he whispered into Louis' ear, breath tickling his skin.

Louis just looked at him. "What the hell are you talking about, mate?"

"Corn on the cob," Harry grinned. "The difference is, it's much much sweeter."

Louis felt himself grinning right back. "Oh," he said. "Good to know."

"You're welcome," he winked, and then dove straight into the argument, suggesting that Zayn's band should play some Alt-J, and Zayn scowled at him and said in no uncertain terms that they would never catch him singing  _any of that hipster shit_.

Louis just sat back and watched them bicker, because he knew they didn't mean it really. They weren't perfect, the five of them, and they didn't always get on or see eye to eye, but there was nowhere else they would rather be than with each other, which he thought was the main thing.

So yeah, Louis was just fine.

* * *

_  
October_

It was Zayn’s idea to throw a Halloween party. He claimed it was because they were long overdue on their house warming one, but Louis knew it was just an excuse for him to get out his Captain Jack costume and spend the night strutting around Liam in knee high boots. Liam decided to wear his favourite batman costume and Niall declared he would dress up as a roman gladiator, complete with  _a foamy sword and everything_! Harry refused to tell anyone what he was coming as, and kept his lips tightly sealed right up until the moment he disappeared off into his room to get changed.

Louis himself kept couldn’t decide between dressing up as Buzz Lightyear or as Peter Pan. When he asked Zayn for help one day in the car on the way back from the supermarket he just snorted and told him not to be a prick.

“What?” Louis had said indignantly, folding his arms defensively across his chest.

“A hundred times Peter Pan, Lou. I can’t believe you even have to ask.”

“You think?”

“I  _know_ ,” Zayn assured him. “You still have those brown trousers from Liam’s twenty first?”

Louis thought about it for a moment, and then nodded. “Think so. Why?”

“Because they make your arse look fantastic,” he shrugged. “…and you know how much Harry appreciates a nice arse.”

“ _Um_!” Louis spluttered, flushing a deep red. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

Zayn just smirked knowingly at him and leant across the car to ruffle his hair. _That_ was unspoken between them too, Louis' very painfully obvious crush on their new friend. He’d tried desperately hard to play it cool for the first few months, reigning in his feelings, monitoring the way he looked at him, controlling the little touches, but it was  _hard_. It was hard when all Louis could remember was being utterly comfortable around him – wrapping his arms around him and pulling him close, burying his head in his chest, running feather-light touches absentmindedly across his skin, moving their lips together in perfect sync.

Lately though, it hard been harder to hide. Possibly because the two of them had become fast and firm friends, but probably because Harry himself was incredible touchy-feely and had a habit of curling up around the boys on the sofa when they were watching films, or nudging them into running their fingers through his curls. And Louis didn’t like to think it because he didn’t like to get his hopes up, but sometimes he couldn’t help but notice how nine times out of ten it was  _him_  who Harry curled around,  _him_  whose hand he nudged. So, yeah. It was hard lately to pretend he was indifferent and as a result Zayn kept sending him these knowing looks that said  _I know exactly what you’re up to, Tomlinson_. And well, _fuck_ , basically, because sometimes Zayn just knew him  _too_  well, better than he even knew himself.

So at half past eight, when Harry disappeared off to put his costume on, Louis shut himself in his own room and he pulled on his brown trousers and his jaggedy green tunic (and he  _definitely_  hadn’t picked out that particular shade of fabric because it matched Harry’s eyes…) and a pair of Zayn’s black ankle boots. He checked himself out in the mirror, standing to the side to see whether the trousers were as tight-fitting as Zayn remembered them to be – which they totally  _were_  – and then he brushed his fringe out with his fingers before settling his pointed hat on top. He didn’t look as sexy as Zayn or as cute as Niall or as powerful as Liam, but he thought he looked okay. Sort of like he was desperately trying to cling on to childhood, which was ironic considering how anxious he’d been to leave it behind.

Louis was in the kitchen helping Niall set up the drinks area when Harry walked in, and he had to make a conscious effort to stop his mouth falling open because he just looked  _ludicrously_  good. He had on a pair of fringed chocolate suede trousers tucked into tan boots and a matching waist coast, and he had a red bandana tied around his neck and  _that was it_. He wore nothing to cover up his chest, nothing to cover up the smooth skin or the well-defined abs.  _Nothing_.

“Howdy!” he grinned down at Louis.

Louis licked his lips furiously, trying to ignore the stirring attraction that pooled hotly in his stomach. “Howdy,” he managed weakly back.

“Peter Pan, eh?” he said, looking Louis up and down with interest. “Should’ve told me. I could’ve come as Tinkerbell.”

“Not sure you could’ve pulled off a dress, mate.”

“Not sure I’m pulling off this, to be honest. Fucking Niall said it would be okay but I sort of feel like a stripper, you know? Like I’ll walk into a room later and people are going to think someone’s ordered a lap dance.”

Louis let out a bark of laughter. “If you were really going for the stripper look you should’ve dressed as a policeman.”

“Shit! Why didn’t _I_ think of that? I could’ve spent the entire night hitting people with my baton.”

“And seeing how many guests we still had left by eleven o’clock?”

“Exactly,” Harry grinned. “Fuck it. Fuck them all. Let’s just throw them all out, yeah? Or better yet, not let them in at all. Then we can all snuggle on the sofa and watch Shaun of the Dead.”

“Zayn would be very disappointed with your lack of enthusiasm,” Louis tutted.

“Yeah, well. Fuck him too, for being such a social fucking butterfly.”

Louis just grinned at him, very pointedly not letting his eyes wander any lower than Harry’s shoulders.

“Hey,” Harry said then. “You  _really_  think I couldn’t pull of a dress?”

And Louis laughed and looked him up and down and came to the conclusion that okay, maybe he  _could_  pull off a dress, but there was no way in hell he could pull off a pair of fairy wings too, which Harry agreed was a fair compromise. “Besides,” Louis shrugged. “There’s only  _so_  much Disney this party can handle.”

“Ah. In that case, I’m glad it’s you, Peter, because you look positively adorable,” Harry teased, pinching his cheek and making Louis duck his head to hide his blush. “I just want to eat you right up.”

And of  _course_  Zayn had to walk in at that exact moment and catch the tail-end of the conversation and snort with laughter. “Oo-er,” he chorused, already a little bit drunk. Louis shoved him into the kitchen table, not really caring when he let out a yelp of pain as the corner caught him in the thigh because  _really_? Sexual innuendoes  _right_  in front of him?

Harry didn’t even seem to notice, thankfully. He just started admiring Zayn’s outfit and then Niall’s and then he was helping himself to a drink and handing Louis one too and then they were lining up tequila shots and then the guests were arriving and everyone was in disguise and the music was loud and the drinks sharp and the conversation brash, but pretty soon everything was a little hazy and blurred around the edges. And Louis hung on to that, even when he felt a little claustrophobic or a lot anxious – held on to the soft corners of the night and thought about Harry’s smile and the way his eyes creased at the side when he smiled and then he didn’t feel quite so out of place.

 

*

Louis made it to half past twelve before he had to let himself out of the backdoor and slip out into the garden. He hovered on the decking for a while, letting the light drizzle rain down on him. The alcohol had worn off and he was left feeling tired and bored and ready to curl up in his bed and go to sleep except he _couldn’t_.

The drizzle turned into proper rain, big fat raindrops that turned his tunic from grass-green to a dark emerald. He took refuge in the warm albeit a little stuffy shed at the end of the garden, made himself comfy on one of the beanbags and let his mind wander.

He don’t know how much time had passed when Harry found him, easing the door open and slipping in quietly, shaking the rain out of his curls. His eyes softened when they landed on the older boy, curled up small, arms wrapped tightly around his knees.

“Hey,” he said, sitting on the floor of the shed beside Louis. “Saw the light from the kitchen and figured I’d find you in here. You okay?”

Louis didn’t say anything for a moment, weighing up his answer carefully. He always had to find the balance with Harry between the whole truth and the half-truth – because he’d long decided he never wanted to lie to him or hide from him, but there were some things he just didn’t need to know. “Yeah,” he said eventually. “Yeah, I’m okay. It’s just…there’s a  _lot_  of people here, you know? And this is the only place I can go to get away from them. The shed.”

“The fucking shed,” Harry agreed softly, and Louis felt his lips tugging upwards into a smile.

“It’s stupid,” he mumbled. “Because I’m so much better but sometimes it’s still hard and sometimes I just want to be in my own little world, and usually I can just leave a party and come home but now the party’s  _in_  my home and I can’t even really go into my own room because it’s so close to the living room and the walls keep shaking from the bass.”

Harry squeezed his knee reassuringly. “I know what you mean,” he said, and then the two of them just sat there side by side, listening to the faint music from inside the house.

“You can go back in,” Louis said eventually, because he’d hate to think he was holding him back from enjoying himself.

Harry just gave a long, lazy yawn and slung his arm around Louis’ shoulder. “Actually, I was kind of hoping we could lock ourselves into my room and put on a film? Maybe?”

Louis looked up at him in a surprise, and found Harry’s face was startlingly close to his own, and that his eyes were focussed down on him intently. He cleared his throat nervously. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s furthest from the living room so the music should be quiet enough. Shaun of the Dead?”

“Shaun of the Dead,” Louis agreed happily, and followed Harry out of the shed and back through the house, Harry leading him through the hordes of people by his hand, warm palms pressed together, fingers knotted tightly.

Louis had never liked Halloween, but that one was different. That was the night Louis fell asleep half way through the film and woke up during the credits to find Harry sleeping beside him, breathing softly, his arms resting on Louis’ chest, Louis’ own arms looped around his waist, because even in sleep they couldn’t help but gravitate towards each other.  

* * *

_  
November_

Harry had never been to a firework display before.

Louis thought that was shocking, really, considering the fact that he'd been to quite a few when he was younger – even despite the childhood he'd had. Zayn’s Mum and Dad had taken the pair of them along a handful of times, and the two of them had stood outside in the November chill with the rest of the town and watched the fireworks shooting upwards into the sky and exploding into a thousand tiny stars. Louis always used to grab onto Zayn’s hand and Zayn would let him, Zayn would squeeze him right back even though they were surrounded by people, because he knew how jittery Louis could get, how afraid he was of getting hurt.

Liam on the other hand just thought it was sad, and suggested that they hold their own firework night, just the five of them, so Harry could experience it. Zayn agreed right away - partly because he was so in love with Liam that he would do anything for him, and partly because he'd take any excuse he was given to get drunk and spend money. So he and Niall gathered up some cash from everyone and headed out to the local shop to buy some barbecue food, some beer, and a whole lot of fireworks.

Harry loved watching the fireworks, just like they all figured he would; _Louis_ on the other hand just loved watching _Harry_. He loved watching the way that his green eyes went wide with awe as he watched the rockets went whistling up into the sky, loved watching the way his pink lips formed around a soft _oh_ when Zayn lit the gold Catherine Wheel. He also loved the way Harry took an instinctive step closer to him after a particularly loud bang, perhaps for protection (which made absolutely no sense to him since he was at least a foot smaller).

When all the fireworks were spent, they moved onto their second crate of beer, and then their third – if only because it was so cold outside and the alcohol took away some of the chill. Then Niall started complaining about being hungry, so they all huddled around the little tin barbecue to make sure the wind stayed away long enough for the coals to burn.

They stood there like that for almost an hour, the five of them just clustered together watching Zayn attempt to cook; it just felt warm, cosy, _right_. Then Zayn announced that if the meat _still_ hadn’t cooked then it was probably about time to throw in the towel and shove them in the microwave for a bit before they all died from starvation. Liam offered to help, and the two of them piled all the charred-but-pink sausages and burgers onto a plate and carried them inside.

Five minutes crawled by, and Louis and Harry and Niall sat in a little row on the decking in cold plastic chairs and talked tipsily about nothing and everything at the same time. Another five. Another _ten_.  
  
"What the hell is taking them so long?" Niall frowned eventually, rubbing his hands together to keep them warm. “I am _so_ fucking hungry!”

"I'll go see," Louis offered, handing Niall a new bottle of beer to mollify him. "Here, have this."  
  
He let himself into the house through the back door, making sure to slide it shut after him so as not to let out any heat (four fifths of them may not be students anymore but that didn’t mean they weren’t still on a very tight budget when it came to gas bills – mostly at Liam’s command, if he was honest. Always worrying, that boy). “Zayn!” he called out. No one answered.

Muttering to himself, he pushed open the kitchen door promptly froze in his tracks because _Jesus Christ_. Liam and Zayn were backed up against the fridge, wrapped in each other, lost in each other, kissing hard. Full on _making out_ , in fact. Zayn had his arms around Liam's neck and Liam had his hands splayed across Zayn's back and they were _kissing_. Actually kissing.

"Um," he said.

The two of them broke apart with such force and such speed that Zayn nearly tripped over the kitchen table in surprise.

"Fuck," he said then, hand flying to his mouth, eyes unfocused. "Fuck, fuck, _fuck_."

Liam just stood there, still against the fridge, a little breathless and very very wide eyed. He looked like a little kid who’d been caught stealing a biscuit out of the tin, all guilt and shock and a little hint of humiliation.

"Um," Louis said again, backing out. "Everyone is waiting for the food. I'll just...I'll be outside."

And he turned on his heels and ran out of the room, shutting the door behind him to give them some much needed and belated privacy. When he reached the back door he let himself break into a huge smile because zaynandliamzaynandliamzaynandliam! Then he pulled himself together, wiped the happiness off his face, and let himself back out into the garden.

"They're just coming," he announced.

"About time," Niall grumbled, but he was smiling. Harry offered him a smile too, and Louis returned it. He wondered what _their_ first kiss would be like. Would it happen like Zayn and Liam's? A drunk explosion of sudden passion that had them pinning each other against kitchen appliances?

He hoped not. Even in the dream world Harry had always been soft with him, careful and gentle and loving, holding him like he was too precious to risk losing. Louis decided he'd like their first kiss to be the same here in reality, eventually. If it even happened at all. Not that he'd _mind_ kissing Harry like Zayn kissed Liam. No, he would settle for that too.

  
It was just Liam who came out in the end, laden with a tray full of piping hot hot dogs and burgers in soft white rolls. “Zayn’s gone to bed,” he told them all, head ducked down so that he didn’t have to look Louis in the eye. “Headache.”

If he noticed Louis frowning at him, he didn’t react – he just started offering out the food, which the other two boys took gratefully. The four of them enjoyed the food and drank some more beer and every so often they paused to watch another firework display that popped up across the rest of the horizon. Louis tried not to think about how wrong it already felt for them to be a four and not a five, but couldn’t help but think about Zayn sitting up in his room all alone.

 

*

Louis found him lying outside on the grass later that night when everyone else had gone to bed and the house was still and quiet.

“Hey,” he said softly, lowering himself down to the ground and lying beside him.

“Hey,” Zayn mumbled back. Louis tried not to think about how many times they had done this when they were growing up, lain side by side and fought their hardest to forget about a world that wasn’t kind to them. Back then it was always Louis who was doing the struggling and Zayn who did the comforting – this time it was the other way round. It was nice in a strange sort of way to know they still had this.

“You want to talk about it?” Louis asked after a while.

“Not much to talk about, Lou,” he sighed. “I like him. Have done since the first fucking time we met in Fresher’s week. I don’t even know what it _is_ , Lou! I just know how I _feel_ and I’ve spent ages - _years_! - trying to move on but I don’t think I really want to and now I’ve fucked it all up, anyway.  _Fuck_.”

Louis let his hands find Zayn’s in the overgrown grass, let his fingers wrap around his. “Not being funny mate, but it didn’t _look_ fucked up. Looked like  you were both as into it as each other, to be honest.”

“You…you think?”

“Yeah,” Louis said firmly, and squeezed his hand. “I do.”

“It’s just we were drunk, you know? And he was leaning over me to get something out of the fridge and his lips were right by mine and I just had to kiss him. I couldn’t stop myself.”

“I know the feeling.”

“And he kissed back. He was kissing back, I’m sure of it, but then you walked in and-”

“-yeah,” Louis said hastily. “Sorry about that.”

Zayn waved his hand dismissively. “Forget it. Anyway, you walked in and he obviously freaked out and then he said ‘that shouldn’t have happened, should it?’ and then I just walked out because I couldn’t stand being there and knowing that’s how he felt. He how feels about us, like _we_ shouldn’t happen.”

“I’m sure that’s not what he meant, Zayn. He was probably just taken by surprise and didn’t know how else to react. Besides, sounds more like he was asking for your opinion than telling you his.”

Zayn chewed this over silently. “Oh fuck,” he muttered then. “You’re right.”

“Usually am,” Louis joked.

“He probably thinks _I_ freaked out!”

“Well you _did_ spend the entire evening hiding out in your room.”

He let out a groan, covering his face with his arm. “He’ll _never_ forgive me.”

“Of course he will!” Louis laughed. “If he’s even angry in the first place, which I highly doubt. You know that boy is incapable of holding a grudge. He’s just too sweet.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “He is.”

“You’ll be absolutely fine, Zayn,” Louis assured him. “Just talk to him in the morning and smooth things out and maybe take it slow until you’re both sure this is what you want?”

“Yeah,” Zayn nodded. “Yeah, that sounds like a good plan.”

They didn’t say anything else for a long while, just laid there amongst the grass and stared up at the inky sky, tinged with the orange hue of the London’s lights off in the distance. Louis felt more relaxed than he had done in ages, lying there on the cold, damp ground. Maybe it was because he was with his best friend, maybe it was because they’d had such a good night, or maybe it was just because tonight had just been another reminder of how much better things were now.

It was difficult for him to remember what it had been like, before. Most of his second year of university was a complete blur – basically everything between the time of the accident and May. Those months were a haze. But that was in the past, just like everything else, and he wouldn’t change it for anything because without those months he wouldn’t have ended up right here where he was.

Hey Lou?" Zayn spoke finally, sometime later, breaking the silence.

He shifted on the grass so that they were face to face. "Yeah?"

"You still think about that boy? The one from your dream?"

Louis bit down hard on the inside of his mouth, and concentrated really hard on keeping his breathing normal and not giving anything away. "Yes," he said eventually. "Yes, I do."

Zayn nodded slightly, turning his eyes back up to the starry sky. "You still miss him?" he asked then.

"No," Louis whispered back, because he didn't. He didn't _have_ to - the boy from his dream was right there with him in his reality. Even if he didn’t know it yet. Even if he was still Harry and not yet H.

"Good," Zayn said, and let out a little sigh of relief. "I'm really glad you're so happy, Lou. Sort of makes up for all the shit before, you know? Makes it easier to forget." He paused for a moment, humming a tuneless melody softly under his breath. "…what was his name again?"

Louis froze up, suddenly not wanting to answer, suddenly wanting to keep this part to himself, keep it sacred. But this was Zayn, this was his best friend in the whole world and if he couldn't be honest with Zayn then who could he be honest with? "H," he said finally. The single syllable felt strange coming from his mouth – it had been so long since he’d said it aloud, a whole _year_ even. "His name was H."

"That's right," Zayn nodded. "I remember now. Funny sort of nickname. I'd never even heard of it at all until Harry."

"Hmm," he murmured in agreement.

“He likes you, Lou. You know that right? He thinks the world of you.”

“I know,” he said, barely hiding his smile. “I think the world of him, too.”

“I mean, he _really_ likes you. I don’t know just how much or in what way just yet, but I do know that much. You’re his best friend. Whether or not that’s enough for you…”

“That’s enough,” Louis assured him softly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said.

Somewhere far off in the distance, someone let off a string of rockets, and one by one they propelled themselves upwards into the sky, leaving behind a trail of sparks before bursting into a blinding array of colour. And when Zayn squeezed Louis’ hand tight, it was as if no time had passed at all, and they were back in Doncaster and seven years old all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading, and I hope you like it so far!
> 
> [follow me on tumblr!](http://hustleandsin.tumblr.com/)  
> :)


	4. December/January/February

_December_

December is Louis' birthday.

He'd never really celebrated birthdays before. Certainly not at home, not before - except for the half-risen poorly-iced cakes Zayn had made him without fail every year when they were younger. Which, when he thought about it, seemed like not much but actually meant so much more.

This year, the boys were determined to make a big thing of it, which meant everyone putting off returning home to their families for Christmas. Louis had argued and protested until he was positively blue in the face, because he wasn't worth that kind of sacrifice, but they all just told him to shut up, even Niall - who Louis eventually listened to because he lived the furthest away and if _he_ really didn't mind then Louis had no right to either. Zayn hadn’t even thought twice about going home to his own family because, as he put it, Louis was as good as his brother. His parents would come down to visit in January instead, something for which Louis was eternally grateful. He would never say it aloud, but the thought of spending Christmas all alone in an empty house made his skin prickle.

Someone along the line had suggested a party, but Louis had turned the idea down straight away. Because if they were going to do this, if they were actually going to celebrate, they were going to do it on his terms. And that meant not being surrounded by people he barely knew and it meant not getting wasted and it just enjoying the company of his four best mates. With cake. And possibly streamers.

He woke up on the morning of his birthday to Harry standing in his doorway with a tray full of food. All five of them crammed themselves into his double bed and watched some television and helped themselves to Louis' lovingly prepared breakfast in bed - which Harry tried to be pissed about, he really did, but he was grinning even as he dragged himself off to the kitchen to make another batch of toast.

Louis was twenty two years old, and that was a miracle in itself, since there was a long period of his life when he wondered if he’d even live to see adulthood. But he was still alive and even though he wasn’t quite whole, he was whole enough to survive. And that was more than enough.

 

*

Harry made him a birthday cake. He tried to make it some sort of big surprise, but the locking himself away in the kitchen for an hour with a _don’t you dare come in Lou or I swear I’ll kill you_ sort of gave it away. Still, Louis couldn’t keep the grin off his face when someone switched the lights off and Harry brought the cake, candles blazing, while they all sung an off-key performance of Happy Birthday (which still somehow ended up being one of the most beautiful versions he had ever heard in his life – not that he would ever admit it, lest they subject him to more horribly out of tune renditions of popular songs). Louis wished for a fleeting moment as he beamed back at them all that he had a family to share this with - a mother and a real father, and maybe some brothers or sisters too - but then it dawned on him that he _did_ have a family. These boys were the best family he could ever ask for, and much more.

For the first time ever his cake wasn't charred or soggy - something Zayn noted with a hint of jealousy - and it was iced meticulously with the most beautiful swirly lettering.

"Harry-" Louis started to say, blue eyes blown wide with affection, but Harry cut him off.

"Used to work in a bakery. You pick up a few things."

"It's amazing. Really, really amazing. Like, a piece of art. Seriously."

"Hmm," he said, obviously uncomfortable with the praise, hopping from foot to foot. "Thanks. Now hurry up and blow out the candles before the smoke detector goes off," he added gruffly.

So Louis leant forward so his face was just in front of the flickering candles and then closed his eyes tight. He took a deep breath, but had to pause for a moment to think of a suitable wish - because what else could he really ask for right now? Then it hit him. _I wish for a sign_ , he thought furiously. _Because I know he'll love me back one day but I have no idea just when that might be and I'm going stir crazy waiting to find out_.

He let his breath out in one big whooshing gush, extinguishing every single candle in one blow, and then he was being pulled into a crushing group hug. His eyes found Harry's over the top of Niall's head, and Harry offered him the sweetest, purest smile he'd ever seen. And right then Louis knew he really didn't care how long it took, actually, because he would wait for forever for that boy.

 

*

They took their cake into the living room on the flimsy plastic plates reserved for special occasions, and Louis chose what DVD to put on - The Breakfast Club, since he was feeling sentimental and he was pretty sure he'd once heard Harry mention how much he liked it. They all curled up together on one sofa, Liam and then Niall and then Harry and then Louis and then Zayn; Louis tried not to notice the sad look that crossed Zayn's face when Liam positioned himself as far away as possible from him.

They'd cleared things up impressively quickly after That Night, but something had changed between them, something had _shifted_. Liam was a confusing contradiction, constantly battling between wanting to be closer to Zayn and trying to keep his distance, as if he knew what he wanted and was scared of it, terrified of it, but still wanted it all the same. Louis felt endlessly sorry for his best friend, and wished there was something he could do to help. He might not have Harry yet, but at least Harry wasn't toying with his emotions, however unintentionally. At least _Harry_ was still completely oblivious.

They didn’t stay up late just for the sake of it – another thing Louis insisted on. So when Liam let out a yawn that he tried to stifle but couldn’t quite, Louis suggested they all turn in. After all, Liam and Niall and Harry all had families to get back to first thing in the morning. Louis once again felt incredibly guilty knowing he was the reason behind their mad-dash to get back to their families in time for Christmas dinner, but the boys all just hugged him tight and wished him one last happy birthday and promised to be in touch.

He locked himself in the bathroom and had a nice, long, hot birthday shower, relaxing under the water and just generally feeling _lucky_ , something he never would’ve thought possible a year and a half ago. Then he traipsed back into his room, pulled on his pyjamas and brushed his teeth. Just as he was about to climb into bed, clean and warm and happy, a knock came at his door. He stood there frowning at it for a moment, because usually the boys just barged their way in and out of each other's rooms without a second thought. Who would _knock_?

" _Harry_?" he said in surprise as he opened the door.

"I'll be gone before you wake up," Harry said quickly, wringing his hands together nervously behind his back.

"Yeah I...I know," Louis frowned, leaning against his doorframe. "Liam said the three of you would probably leave before ten."

"Yeah," Harry nodded, licking his lips. "So I just wanted to say goodbye. Because I forgot to say it earlier."

"Oh," Louis said. "Right. Okay."

Harry opened his arms in offering and Louis stepped straight into them because they were warm and strong and always familiar. They stood like that for a long while, neither speaking, Harry's chin resting ever-so-gently on the top of Louis' head, Louis' cheek pressed tight against Harry's chest - so close he could feel his heart beating.

"Goodbye then," Louis mumbled, and Harry let out a low, rumbling laugh that Louis felt just as much as he heard.

"Goodbye, Lou."

Louis lifted his head reluctantly in a feeble attempt to extricate himself from Harry's embrace. But _Harry_ wasn't moving, _Harry_ wasn't going anywhere. _Harry_ was still holding him tight, still looking down at him with beautiful green eyes, so close that Louis could count his lashes where they brushed against his cheek. He lowered his head slowly, deliberately, giving Louis every chance in the world to move away if he wanted to, but he _didn't_ want to, he never ever wanted to be anywhere but right here in this moment. Then he pressed his lips against his, soft and warm and full. It was gentle, and impossibly sweet and then he was pulling away and smiling at him again, so casual, like two friends kissing was a completely normal and ordinary thing to do. Like he hadn't even _noticed_ the brush of their lips, the thudding of Louis' heart, the shock in Louis' eyes. Maybe he hadn't.

He squeezed Louis' arm. "Night Lou," he said softly. "Oh...and Happy Christmas, love."

And then he was gone and Louis was left standing frozen to the spot, heart pounding in his chest, paralysed by the dizzying taste of Harry on his lips that he had waited so long for. 

 

* * *

_January_

 Louis was woken up at the very start of the new year by his phone vibrating ceaselessly and deafeningly on his bedside table. He buried his face in his pillow, muffling a groan, and  then reached out into the cold air to grab hold of it, if only to stop it making that incessant noise in the _middle_ of the _fucking_ night. 

"Loooooouis!"

"Harry?" he croaked, sitting up in his bed and leaning over to switch on his bedside lamp with a frown. "Is that you?"

"It's me, yeah!" Louis could hear the sounds of him moving through a crowd of people, and then the noise started to fade away until there was a click and then _silence_. "Sorry about that. It's busy. Sorry."

"It's okay," he said. He glanced at his alarm clock - half past two, but he was suddenly wide awake. "You alright?"

"Yeah. No. I'm...I don't know. No, I'm okay. I'm fine. Just..."

"...drunk?"

"Yeah," Harry laughed. Louis thought the noise sounded sadder than usual, flatter. Emptier. "What you up to, Lou?"

"Well I _was_ asleep, but-"

"Fuck!" Harry moaned. "I'm sorry. I woke you up didn't I? Sorry. You can...you go back to bed, yeah? Sorry. Ignore me. Sorry. I just wanted to-"

"-Haz!" Louis cut him off, smiling a little. "It's alright. Don't worry about it."

"You can go," Harry said. "I won't mind. Well, I would but I wouldn't. Yeah?"

"I'm not going," Louis assured him. "So how's the party?"

"Big."

"Sounded it," Louis laughed. "Lots to drink?"

"Hmm."

"Company good, then?"

There was a pause down the line. Then, "I've had better."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Another pause. "Why aren't you here, Lou? You should be here. I miss you."

Louis felt himself flushing both warm and cold at the same time. "Yeah?"

" _Yes_. Fuck. I'm drunk."

Louis let out a nervous laugh. "I figured you might be."

"Not that that wasn't true because I...it _is_. Shouldn't be, probably. Oh god. I mean, you're _you_ , Lou. And I'm just me and...but I do miss you. And I'm so happy we're mates, you know? But at midnight everyone had someone and this girl grabbed hold of me and she wanted me to be her midnight kiss, you know? Fuck. But I said...I said _no_. I said no because all I was thinking about was _you_. Kissing _you_."

Silence.

"...Lou?"

"You're drunk, Harry."

"So? I'm _not_...I mean, this _isn't_...I mean I'm like this all the time. Not just tonight. Not just now. _All_ the time. Oh fucking hell. Have I fucked it up? I've fucked it up, haven't I? Shit Lou. I'm...oh fuck. Sorry. Ignore me. I'm going to...I'm going to go, okay? I'll speak to you soon. I'm so sorry Louis, I just-"

"Harry!" Louis cut him off. "Stop babbling."

"Sorry."

"Stop saying sorry, too."

"I'm sorr- _fuck_. Okay. Um..."

"I miss you too," Louis said softly.

"...You do?"

"Of course I do you idiot. Just wish you knew how much."

"Wish you were here."

Louis wondered vaguely if his was some sort of game, listing things they wished were true. _I wish you loved me as much as I love you_ , he thought heavily. _There. I win._ "Yeah. Me too. But you'll be back at the weekend, yeah?"

"Yeah. At the weekend."

"Then we won't have to miss each other anymore, okay?"

"Okay," Harry agreed.

"Okay. Now can you do me a favour? Go find yourself a glass of water and something to eat, yeah? Something with lots of carbs in. Toast, maybe. Can you do that Harry?"

There was a pause - Louis could almost visualise him nodding on the other end of the phone, too drunk to realise Louis couldn't see. "Hmm. Sure."

"Thanks Haz. You go do that now and I'll see you back here at the weekend."

"Okay," he said quietly. "Night Lou. Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year, love. And Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm really glad you woke me up," he said, and with a smile he hung up the phone and promptly fell back asleep. And in the cold light of morning, it would've been so easy to believe the conversation had been a figment of his imagination, had the proof not been right there in his call history.

 

*

January was cold. Frost dusted the ground, and the trees, and the cars and the windowsills and _everything._ Liam invested in more blankets in a weak attempt to keep the heating bills down at a reasonable, affordable price.

They had the first snowfall half way through the month – just half an inch that melted almost as quickly as it fell. When the second came a few days later, Louis was the only one home. He watched it from his bedroom window, watched the flakes turn from tiny and almost invisible to big, white clusters. He didn’t start worrying until it started settling – a few centimetres at first, then an inch, then two, then three. The snow fell thick and fast and showed no sign of letting up – cars stopped driving down the roads, abandoning their journeys and parking up at the side, and the buried walkways were empty. When Louis opened his window and stuck his hand outside to catch a few flakes, he was struck by just how silent it was, as if the whole world had been muffled by the heavy blanket of snow.

Zayn and Niall made it back to the house first – they were closest, only a couple miles down the road at the gym. They’d left the car on site and walked back through the snow, and were understandably frozen solid by the time they walked through the door.

“Is Liam here?” Zayn asked before he even said hello. Louis just shook his head and stepped out of the way to let them in, and Zayn had his phone out and to his ear before he’d even taken off his coat.

“Is _Harry_ back?” Niall asked Louis, shrugging off his own jacket and hanging it up on the peg in the porch.

“Nope. Don’t even know where he went.”

“Said something about The Savoy I think.”

“The Savoy?” Louis echoed in surprise.

“Yeah. You know, the restaurant in Convent Garden?

“I’ve heard of it,” he frowned. “Who did he go with?”

“Dunno,” Niall shrugged. “Sort of figured he’d gone with you, if I’m honest.”

“Oh,” Louis said flatly, desperately not trying to overthink it.

Liam made it back a little over half an hour later, shivering uncontrollably, red nosed, and wearing nothing but the long sleeved shirt he’d gone out in three hours before.

“Jesus,” he said, his teeth chattering. “It is _mental_ out there!”

Zayn rushed about the house finding him a dressing gown and a blanket and a steaming mug of hot chocolate and set about making him comfortable on the sofa. Liam looked a little amused, but let himself be looked after – because quite frankly who could possible turn down Zayn?

“I’m fine you know,” he told Zayn finally, but only once he was all tucked up warm with Niall and Zayn on either side of him. “I haven’t got pneumonia or anything.”

“Well not _now_ you haven’t,” Zayn huffed. “Now you’re all dry and toasty warm.”

Liam rolled his eyes and buried deeper under the blankets. “What a worrier,” he muttered, but they could all see he was biting back a smile as Zayn got up to the DVD in.

Louis sat separately on the armchair, curled up and feeling a little sleep and very alone. He tried not to think about Harry and where he was and who he was with as they watched the film, he really did. It was easier said than done – but mostly just because he was so worried that he was stuck somewhere in the snow and couldn’t make his way back home.

He heard the key in the door just as the credits started to roll and sat upright in his chair, suddenly very awake.

“Harry?” he called out.

“It’s me!” Harry called back, and Louis thought he’d never been happier to hear his voice. “Fuck! It’s freezing out!”

“Well that’s because-”

Louis stopped midsentence as Harry traipsed into the living room, closely followed by a tall, willowy blonde girl. His heart jumped into his chest, lurching painfully. He’d been right. He had been at The Savoy on a date.

“Hey guys!” Harry said brightly, completely oblivious.

“Alright mate,” Niall said, and then he glanced away from the screen and his eyes landed on the girl. “…um. Hi?”

“Oh, right,” Harry said hastily. “Yeah. This is Sienna. She’s on my course at uni.”

“Hello,” she smiled, raising a hand in greeting. Niall and Zayn and Liam all chorused back in unison, but Louis…Louis _couldn’t_. He couldn’t even _look_ at her, with her stupidly long legs and her glossy hair and her perfect smile, because all he felt was red-hot jealousy. And he was _holding_ her _hand_ for fucks sake. He was _actually_ holding her hand. Like he hadn’t kissed Louis, or phoned him up on New Year and told him he missed him.

Had Louis _imagined_ it all? Every lingering look and unnecessary touch? Had he read too far into things that simply didn’t exist between them? What if Harry’s feelings towards him were completely platonic? What if he was just projecting the relationship they’d had in Louis’ dream onto their real life relationship? What if the lines had blurred and Louis’ couldn’t tell the deference between what was real and what wasn’t anymore? What if he was expecting too much from him, things that Harry had no intention of ever fulfilling?

He finally let himself look over at him. He was as flawless as always, cheeks flushed from the cold, stray snowflakes still sprinkled in his curls like confetti. Why was he so beautiful and so utterly impossible? Why did he kiss him if he didn’t mean it?

He couldn’t be in that room. Couldn’t sit there with the familiar feeling of anxiety creeping up the back of his neck. Because he was through with this, he was moving on, he was getting better, and he didn’t need to sit there and start panicking about the love he’d lost when it was a love he’d never really had. Not in the real world. Not where it mattered.

So he got to his feet and headed out of the living room and up the stairs to his room, ignoring the voices calling after him, and waited until he was lying face first on his bed before he let himself even think about crying. Outside, the snow continued to fall ceaselessly, smothering the city in a white cloak. For the first time in months, Louis sort of wished it would smother him too, bury him deep down where no one would come looking and it didn’t hurt so much to care.

 

*

Zayn cornered Harry in the kitchen later that night when Sienna had gone home and everyone had gone to bed. He looked up from the counter where he was pouring himself a glass of milk before bed, all soft curls and innocence.

“Hey mate,” Harry smiled. “You alright?”

"Why did you bring her here?" Zayn demanded, ignoring him completely.

Harry blinked up at him. “Sorry?”

“That girl. Sienna. Why did you bring her here?”

"What do you mean? We went out for dinner and it was snowing and it was easier for her to get a taxi back from here so I just-"

"-no," Zayn said sharply. "I mean why did _you_ bring _her_ here? Do you like her? Are you interested?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "I don't...I don't get what you're asking. _Obviously_ I like her or I wouldn't have asked her out."

"So that's all there is to it? You liked this girl and you asked her out. That's it, nothing more."

Harry raised his eyes to meet Zayn's, and Zayn just stared straight back at him, firm and unyielding and Harry just _knew_. Even after how hard he’d tried to hide it, tried not to think about it, tried to pretend it didn’t exist. "Oh fuck," he mumbled, sinking down into one of the chairs.

"Yeah."

"You know, then? About…?"

Zayn nodded slowly. "Yeah. I know."

"Does _he_ know?"

"I don't think so. Don't think he has a clue, actually."

"Shit," he groaned. "You can't...I mean, you can't tell him, okay? I don't want to ruin it. He's my best mate, and if he found out it would turn everything to shit. So please don't tell him. Please?"

Zayn eyed him with uncertainty, as if he was worried Harry might suddenly explode. At this point it felt like a very real possibility. "Yeah," he said eventually. "Okay. I won't say anything. But what are you going to do?"

"What _can_ I do? I already came so close to fucking it all up on his birthday when I kissed him."

"You _kissed_ him?"

Harry's cheeks flushed red. "I...yeah. I did. Did he not tell you?"

"Not a word," Zayn said, half frowning, half amused.

"Great," Harry muttered, slumping further down in his chair. "That just proves it, then. He was so humiliated he couldn't even tell _you_."

Zayn waved his hand dismissively. “I really wouldn’t worry about that, Haz. Louis’ not exactly the most open guy I know. Is that why you took her out, then? Louis?”

“Yeah,” Harry sighed, resting his chin on his folded arms. “Pathetic, yeah? I thought maybe if I went on a date or something then it would be easier. That I wouldn’t…you know. _Want_ him so much. But I spent the whole time thinking how much more fun it would’ve been if it were him sat opposite me instead, what sort of stupid things we’d get up to in the snow on the walk back, like snowballs and snow angels and oh _fuck_ …” he trailed off, burying his face in his hands.

“Hey,” Zayn said softly, reaching over to give his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“He’s supposed to be my _mate_ ,” Harry said weakly. “But I think I’ve _fallen_ for him.”

“If it’s any consolation, Haz, I’m pretty sure he’s fallen for you too.”

Harry’s head snapped upwards in surprise. He felt a spark of hope blossom in his chest, twisting his stomach and sending a swarm of butterflies scattering through his insides, swooping endlessly around. “He…he _what_?”

“Oh come on, Harry,” Zayn grinned. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. I’m pretty sure he’s had a crush on you since they day I introduced the two of you. He was all wide eyes and giddy smiles even then.”

“I remember,” Harry murmured. “Shit. I remember how good he looked too, all sunny and smiley.”

“Well then. Looks like you’re both in as deep as each other.”

“You really think he likes me back?”

“Why _wouldn’t_ he, Haz?” Zayn said. “You two get on better than any two people I’ve ever seen in my whole life.”

Harry shrugged, folding his arms across his chest to stop himself feeling so small, even though he towered above Zayn when they stood side by side. “I don’t know. I’m nineteen, he’s twenty two? I’m still at university, he’s not? I’m just undoubtedly the biggest dork in the world and I’m way too tall and really _really_ uncoordinated and he’s _Louis Tomlinson_?”

“Harry,” Zayn said sternly. “First off, shut up. Because you may be a dork and uncoordinated and fairly fucking lanky but they are all just reasons why he likes you, okay? And secondly, since _when_ does he give a _shit_ about how old you are?”

“I don’t know,” Harry frowned, hanging his head. “I just don’t feel good enough, okay? Like, I just don’t see what he would see in me. Why he would settle for what I have to offer. And we’re best friends, right, so why would he want to ruin that?”

“That’s like asking someone in coach why they would possibly want to move to first class!” Zayn snorted. “You’re talking bullshit, mate. Sorry, but you are. He loves you to pieces, he loves you more than I’ve ever seen him love anyone before, okay? He’s probably loved you from day one, to be honest, because that’s what Louis’ like. Huge, open heart. Never afraid to let people in or to let himself feel, even though he has every reason to.” He paused, studying Harry’s face with searching brown eyes. “…how much has he told you? About before?”

Harry licked his lips nervously. “Not much,” he admitted. “Just that he’s not whole, really. That he’s better than he was when he was younger but he’s still a little broken and he’s still doing his best to piece back together all of his missing bits.”

Zayn felt a pang of affection deep inside his chest. “That’s pretty much it, yeah.”

“He doesn’t _seem_ broken,” Harry said carefully. “But I know that he is and I…I don’t mind. I _like_ him this way. But I want to help him, too. I want to help him find all the bits he’s missing and find their rightful place. Because I know I’m young and probably stupid and definitely foolish but _he’s_ what I want, full stop. Whether he’s whole or not.”

“Then stop fighting what you want, mate,” Zayn told him firmly.  “Because that’s not helping anyone.”

“Yeah,” Harry said slowly. “Yeah, okay. I’ll…I’ll stop fighting. Thanks, mate, for doing this.”

Zayn just pulled him in for a hug, squeezing him tight – because anyone who his best friend loved this much and who loved his best friend this much was worth more to him than he could ever put into words.

* * *

 

  _February_

Harry had never really had a valentine. Well, except for in primary school when he was ten years old and hadn’t quite figured out that he wasn’t interested in the girls in his class and the boys in his class would rather piss themselves in front of the whole school than ever be interested in him. 

Still, he didn’t mind. Back home, before he’d left for university, it had been an annual ritual for him and his friends to get together on Valentine’s Day and spend the evening watching horror films and eating pizza and drinking beer and not worrying about the fact that nobody loved them – because let’s face it, nobody loved them any other day of the year anyway, so why should the fourteenth of February be any different?

It didn’t really work out that way that year, though. Liam and Zayn had decided last minute to go on a _completely platonic I swear_ date to the cinema, and Niall had taken one of the girls from his work out for dinner, so it was just him and Louis. And usually Harry would love that, and usually Louis would love that, but there was something about the day itself and the fact that there were so many unspoken things between them just bubbling beneath the surface that made both of them nervous.

“Sienna didn’t want to see you tonight then?” Louis asked as casually as he could, taking his usual seat on the kitchen counter to watch Harry rustle up some of his trademark fajitas.

“Hardly,” Harry snorted. “Told you I wasn’t interested in her, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” Louis said, but he still liked to hear the words spoken out loud. _He wasn’t interested_.

Harry turned pointedly away to grab some cheese out of the fridge, avoiding all eye contact. After his little pep-talk from Zayn a few weeks back, he’d been doing all he could to let Louis know how he felt without actually saying the words _I really, really like you_. He hadn’t explicitly said that there was nothing going on between him and Sienna, but since that night he’d never brought her or any other girl back to the flat, and that seemed to work well enough. Louis was still tentative, but he wasn’t running away anymore, and that was good.

“Why aren’t you out on some super romantic date, anyway?” Harry asked eventually, trying to keep his tone bright.

“No one asked,” Louis shrugged.

“No one asked or no one asked who you would ever say yes to?” Harry asked with a raised eyebrow.

Louis shot him a look. “Has Zayn been opening his big mouth again?”

“You tell me,” Harry smirked. “What was her name? Lola?”

Louis felt his cheeks flushing hotly. “Layla,” he corrected. “And before you laugh I’ll have you know she would’ve been a very good catch. When I was at uni all the boys in third year fancied her. She was the _sole_ reason the campus café got any income.”

Harry let out a barking laugh that echoed slightly around the bright kitchen. “Don’t doubt it, mate. So was she the only one who asked?”

His cheeks burned even darker. “Um. No.”

“How many? Two? Three?”

“…five?”

“Five!” Harry repeated incredulously. “ _Five_ people asked you out today and you turned them _all_ down? Five people and you couldn’t even put up with one of them for a _single_ night?”

“Hey!” Louis said defensively. “I wasn’t interested so I said no. I don’t need to spend tonight with anyone but myself. There’s no one I’d _want_ to spend it with.”

“No one?” Harry asked, his voice incredibly soft.

Louis felt his breath hitch in his throat, and he wet his lips nervously. “Well,” he mumbled. “No one that _asked_ , anyway.”

“Maybe they were just scared you’d say no,” Harry said, and Louis noticed that he’d stopped with his cooking and was just leaning back against the counter, looking at him. “…after all, you do have a _horrible_ track record of rejecting people,” he added, his tone teasing.

“Cruel,” Louis said, and gave a nervous laugh. Harry just smirked at him from across the kitchen and went back to grating the cheese as if nothing had been said.

 

*

They ended up having a zombie marathon, because neither of them really felt like sitting through a rom-com and after all, there was something very oddly therapeutic about tacky violence and gore. The first film was fine – Louis watched the whole things without even yawning once. The second film was more difficult, with both of them stifling yawns left right and centre and struggling to keep their eyes open. The third film was a lost cause.

It was by no means the first time they had fallen asleep together whilst watching a DVD and it wouldn’t be the last, either. That night was different, though. Maybe it was something to do with the fact that they were both finally starting to become aware of how the other felt, both still too scared and too nervous to do anything about it. it was Louis who fell asleep first – or so Harry thought. He was curled up small into Harry’s side, fitting perfectly as always, head buried in Harry’s chest. Harry had his arm around his shoulder, fingertips drawing soft circles across his skin. His breathing was shallow and even, his eyes closed, and for a while Harry just watched him. Christ, he was beautiful. Every inch of him, every little part of him, even the parts Louis hated. He was like an angel, a perfect angel, and so so peaceful.

Harry told him. “You are beautiful,” he said. “And perfect and incredible and _everything_ and you don’t even know it.”

Then he leant down and pressed his lips ever-so-gently against Louis’ forehead, barely brushing the skin in a soft kiss.

“Sweet dreams, love,” he whispered, and then he settled down beside him. Within moments he too was asleep, lulled by Louis’ warmth and the feeling of being so close to the one he loved.

Except Louis _wasn’t_ asleep. Louis never had been. So Louis heard the words and felt his lips and he committed them both to memory, filing them away in his mind, right beside the Zayn compartment and way, way in front of the Do Not Open one in their own little box labelled just _Harry_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading, and I hope you liked it!
> 
> please [follow me on tumblr?](http://hustleandsin.tumblr.com/)  
> :)


	5. March/April/May

_March_

It was Niall who found the advert first. He came barging into Louis’ room in typical Niall fashion on the morning of the second Saturday of the month, brandishing the newspaper in the air like it was some sort of holy grail.

“Lou!” he said, all excitement and unbridled enthusiasm. “You have _got_ to see this!”

Louis looked, not really expecting much (because Niall had an endearing habit of getting overexcited about the strangest little things like cheesy chips and Guinness and _oh my fucking god Louis is that a cat on a fucking lead_?!). It was a half-page advertisement for a new football club set to open just outside of the city, looking for local players to join the team.

Louis just looked up at Niall, who was beaming down at him like he was the sun or something, and tried really hard not to get too excited himself. Because he recognised that stadium in the picture, he knew where this was going and how it would end and it was just one more puzzle piece that was finally coming together. “What about it, Nialler?” he said eventually, as casually as he could.

“We should _totally_ do it!”

“Okay.”

Niall blinked. “Okay? Really? Just like that?”

“What did you want me to say, mate?” Louis said with a grin. “No? Because if that’s the answer you were looking for I’m sure if we just rewind a little I can-”

“-no!” he said hurriedly. “No. I wanted you to say yes, obviously. I just thought you might need a bit of convincing, that’s all. After all it did take us two whole years to get you to try out for the university team.”

“Yeah, well,” Louis said. Because Niall was right, of course. A few years ago Louis would never have _dreamt_ of going to open trials for a new team. He wouldn’t have dreamt of anything, for that matter. A few years ago he was so lost, so submerged in the life he’d been forced into. A few years ago he was drowning in the self-loathing and the nightmares and anxiety. A few years ago he was _sick_ , but now he was better. Or, he was getting there, at least. “Wasn’t exactly the same person back then, was I?”

“I guess not,” Niall said, and then he broke out into another smile, this one much softer and warmer and filled with the sort of affection that makes Louis’ chest ache and makes him think of family.

“Have you spoken to the other boys?” Louis asked him.

“Yeah. Liam told me to piss off but Zayn is well up for it too. Looks like it could be the three of us, mate! Imagine that. Just like before, only better. With a stadium and fans and _money_.”

But Louis was still stuck on the _the three of us_ part. “What about Harry? Did you not ask him?”

“I asked, yeah.” He gave a shrug. “He says he wishes he could but he’s still on the uni team, isn’t he? So he can’t do both and he doesn’t want to let anyone down.”

“Of course not,” Louis said with a roll of his eyes, and Niall laughed because that was just _so Harry_ , wasn’t it? Endlessly selfless.

“Would’ve been cool, though. Us four together on the pitch and Liam on the side-line.”

“Cheerleading?”

“I was actually thinking Water Boy,” Niall snorted. “But yeah, that works too. I can just picture it now… _Gimme a Z! Gimme an A! Gimme a-oh fuck it, just gimme Zayn_!”

Louis let out a bark of laughter, shaking his head in amusement. Niall grinned back at him, still prancing around the room and thrusting his imaginary pompoms in the air. “You’re mental,” Louis said finally, still laughing. “But I’ll talk to him. Harry, I mean.”

“Well if anyone’s going to convince him, it’s you,” Niall said, and it was said so matter-of-fact that Louis had to bite the inside of his cheeks to stop himself from smiling.

*

Harry went with them to the trials, obviously (all it took was Louis to tell him he’d bet his left leg that if he tried out he’d be team captain by the end of the year. And maybe that was immoral of him, to use his insight for his own personal gain, but if he hadn’t said it then Harry probably wouldn’t have decided to join them and if he didn’t join them he wouldn’t have made the team and if he wasn’t on the team then that was already a pretty big chunk of Louis’ dream world that was wrong. And if he wasn’t on the team in the future then maybe other things weren’t the same either, like Harry and him. And _that_ wasn’t something he was ever going to be willing to risk).

They went in two separate cars; Zayn, Harry and Louis in Zayn’s beat up Corsa (since he _still_ hadn’t gotten round to replacing it) and Liam and Niall in Liam’s car. They arrived at the stadium at the same time, and even just being in the car park again made Louis heart rate start to pick up. He could still picture it so quickly, that first moment he had laid eyes on Harry in his dream. The way he ran across the car park and into his arms – it was something he hadn’t understood at the time, the need to be close to him, to touch him, to breathe him in, but now he got it completely. Harry was his home. The one who made him laugh, who made him feel good, brave, strong, the one who made getting better that much easier. He needed Harry like he needed oxygen, needed him constantly close enough to for Louis’ to breathe him in, every single breath a lifesaver.

Beside him, Harry gave his knee a gentle squeeze. “You alright, Lou?”

Louis took in his dark curls, his bright eyes and the way his eyebrows were knitted together slightly in concern. He was just as perfect now as he was that first day in the dream. _More_ perfect, even. Certainly more _real_. “Yeah,” he said, offering him a slow smile. “Yeah I’m just fine.”

*

Nearly fifty hopeful footballers turned up. They came from all over the country and were at varying different skill levels, but they all wanted the same thing – a place on a seventeen-man team.

“We’ve got no chance,” Zayn muttered as they joined the queue waiting to fill in the forms. “We might as well just leave now and not bother wasting our time.”

Louis just nudged him playfully in the ribs. “Don’t be so negative! I’ve got a good feeling about this.”

Zayn studied his face closely. “Yeah?”

“Yes. I really do.”

“Fine,” he sighed. “Spose we haven’t got anything to lose.”

Which was absolutely true, of course (except for maybe Harry, who’d effectively been kicked off of the university football team when he’d asked for permission to come to the trial. Louis had told him he was better off not being part of a team that crushed ambition so cruelly, but Harry just shrugged and told him they were all in it together and that whatever happened the four of them would be more of a team to him than anyone else could ever be. And Louis had almost burst into tears right there and then. _Almost_.)

They ended up training for almost three hours. It was exhausting for them all, especially seeing how it had been a while since any of them had been on the pitch, but they got through it in one piece. When they were all split into four teams, Louis and Harry and Niall and Zayn all gravitated together so quickly that no one even had a chance in hell of splitting them up. They won the first two matches easily without even having to try too hard, but the third proved much more difficult. After twenty five minutes of chasing the ball up and down the pitch repeatedly without either team getting close enough to take a shot at goal, Coach finally blew the whistle and called it a draw.

“Well,” Zayn said as the three of them traipsed off into the changing rooms once the trials were over. “Even if we don’t get in that was the most fun I’ve had in ages.”

“Damn straight!” Niall agreed, tugging off his boots. “God I’ve missed football.”

“I’ve missed _good_ football,” Harry added, pulling his shirt off over his head. Louis tried very hard not to stare, he really did, but it was difficult when he was stood there in front of him, half naked and slick with sweat. “…or maybe I’ve just missed football with _you_ losers.”

“Probably,” Zayn smirked. “We _are_ the best of the best.”

“La crème de la crème,” Harry agreed with a grin. “And so fucking modest, too.”

Zayn grinned straight back at him, and then as always his eyes drifted to Louis, who was changing quietly beside them. “What about you, Lou? Enjoy it?”

Louis looked up into three pairs of expectant eyes. “Um...” he said. “Yeah. Yeah, I did. Facilities are good too. I’ll definitely enjoy having a changing room that doesn’t freeze over in the winter.”

“ _You_ sound confident,” Niall laughed, and Louis just shrugged. Niall’s smile turned into a frown when he realised he wasn’t joking. “…What about the rest of us, then? Reckon we’ll get to get used to toasty warm underground heating too?”

“Oh, definitely,” Louis said, resting back against the wall as he waited for the others to finish doing up their shoes. “No doubt about it.”

Niall just shook his head. “You hear that, boys?” he said to Zayn and Harry as they made their way out of the changing room. “We have it on Lou’s authority – we’re all going to make the cut!”

“Yay!” Harry said happily, beaming over at Louis.

Louis just beamed straight back at him, feeling easy and light and as weightless as gossamer; as if he could just drift off up into the sky at any given moment

“You’ll hear before the end of the month,” the admin man told them as they passed him on the way to the car. By then they’d already stopped thinking about it, placated by Louis’ predications and the knowledge that _what will be will be_.

They heard before the end of the _week_. All four of them, offered a two-year contract. A _paid_ two-year contract. Two hundred pound for a win, one fifty for a draw and a hundred for a loss, plus an end of season bonus if they ended up in the top five. The season didn’t start until August but they were to start training at the beginning of next month. Zayn and Niall and Harry and even _Liam_ were beside themselves with happiness and disbelief and the five of them went out for a well-deserved meal to celebrate.

Louis knew all along they’d all get in, of course, but even _he_ couldn’t keep the smile off of his face. It was one more piece slotted firmly into place; one more step forwards towards the way things had been, once before. Once upon a dream.

 

* * *

_April_

April was the month that Liam found his dream job. He didn’t know it was going to be his dream job at the time – thought it would be unbearable at worst and a stepping-stone to a better job at best – but that’s how it turned out.

One of their local restaurants was rehiring staff in the run up to summer. Liam didn’t have any experience of waiting tables, but after much cajoling from the other boys, he handed over his CV anyway. They called him back the same day for an over the phone interview, and by the end of the phone call he was hired.

He was an instant hit with the customers. It was something about his big brown eyes and his warm friendly demeanour, apparently. They tipped him handsomely and sang his praises to the manager and by the end of the first week Liam was being pulled aside and told that if he kept working as hard as he did there was every chance he would be promoted _very high very soon_. So Liam was chuffed, to say the least. Because not only was he good at it, but he _enjoyed_ it too.

The boys gave him a fortnight to settle in and learn the ropes before they invited themselves over to the restaurant for a meal that Friday night. (“To _support_ you!” Harry had said when Liam asked why they insisted on coming on the busiest night of the week, at the exact same time that Niall said “To _annoy_ you!”)

They sat in a little square both tucked away in the corner, which was probably down to some very strategic planning on Liam’s part. The place was packed out with customers – couples, mostly, but a good number of families too. Louis was impressed; admittedly, he hadn’t been expecting much since by nature he was an awful pessimist, but it was really nice. Tastefully decorated, spacious and not horrendously priced. He made a note to tell Liam, since he knew it would please him to hear it – he also made a note to tell him he looked positively _dapper_ in his waiters uniform.

“Look at him,” Harry said wistfully, once Liam had left their table with their orders. “All grown up.”

“Hypocrite,” Niall snorted. “Are you even _twenty_ yet? Or are you still a teenager?”

“Fuck you!” Harry laughed. He was always being teased about being younger, especially by Niall who had a strange affinity for patting him on the head and calling him Baby Hawwy. _Christ_ , that boy. “Although that’s not surprising at _all,_ really, since you spent the entirety of my twentieth with your head down the toilet.”

Niall let out a shudder. “Tequila. My _nemesis_.”

“Aren’t you Irish supposed to be able to handle your drink?” Zayn frowned, and Niall narrowed his eyes at him across the table.

“Aren’t you Muslims supposed to stay sober full _stop_?” he hit back.

Across the table (and who had decided _that_ would be a good idea anyway, seating him opposite Harry so all he could possibly do with himself was steal glances of him when he wasn’t looking his way?) Harry caught his eye and broke into a grin.

Louis rolled his eyes at the pair of them, still bickering away, and bit back his own smile. Then, suddenly, he could feel their knees brushing together under the table. It had to be Harry, didn’t it? Because the other two were very much preoccupied and let’s face it, who else had legs that long? Still, he tried not to let it show on his face, the tingles it sent shooting across his skin, prickling everywhere like a low-voltage electric shock. Then Liam was bringing over their drinks and he forgot about it for a while, got used to the slight pressure at his knee, because it was Harry and everything about Harry was comfortable and familiar, even this.

“Look at us,” Niall sighed, once Liam had taken away their empty plates from the starter, leaning back on his chair. “Out on a Friday night acting all _civilised_. Have we grown up already? Because if we have we did it much too fast. I still want to have _fun_. I want to drink too much. Feels like we haven’t done that for ages.”

“Yeah,” Zayn said wryly. “Since last week at least. Fucking _ages_.”

Niall shot him a look. “You know what I mean.”

“Well, you can still drink too much,” Louis pointed out. “You’ll just have to get drunk on wine instead of cheap beer.”

Niall perked up immediately at the thought. “Hey! You’re so right! Let’s get pissed, yeah? All of us.”

“I’ve got work at ten tomorrow morning,” Zayn said. “So I think I’m going to sit this one out.”

“Killjoy,” Niall muttered. “Lou? Haz?”

“Well _I’ve_ got nothing to do until training on Wednesday,” Harry announced, already pouring himself another glass of the house red. “So yeah. I’m down to drink too much.”

“Yeah,” Louis nodded. “Me too. Come on Zayn, you’ve been to work hung-over before!”

“Exactly!” Zayn said. “I’m trying not to make a habit of it.”

“Zaaaaayn!” Niall pleaded, batting his eyelashes and doing obscene puppy dog eyes. “Pleeeeease? For me? Just this once?”

“ _Just this once_?” Zayn snorted. “Famous fucking last words, mate.”

But he held out his glass anyway for Niall to fill up, and then all four of them had full glasses and they were making toast after toast at the top of their voices while they waited for their main course and Liam was shooting them looks from across the room, half embarrassed, half affectionate.

*

By the time Liam brought over their main courses, Louis figured he was drunk. Not messy, sloshy, embarrassing drunk, just…warm drunk. Fuzzy drunk. Good drunk.

Niall and Harry were giving Zayn a lecture on Liam while Louis just sat and listened. Apparently they hadn’t been as oblivious to his crush as he and Louis had imagined – which didn’t exactly come as a surprise since the five of them knew pretty much all there was to know about each other, except the things that Louis kept buried so deep he wasn’t even sure _he_ knew how to access them anymore. They told him exactly what Louis had been telling him for months; to just _go_ for it.

“But we’re taking it _slow_!” Zayn whined. He always whined when he was drunk. Just like Niall always cried and Liam always got the giggles and Harry and Louis always gravitated towards each other like they were super-strong magnets.

“Yeah, but how slow is _slow_?” Niall asked. “I mean, fuck, mate. You’ve liked him for ages. A whole year, at least.”

“Try _three_ ,” Zayn said miserably.

“Christ,” Niall mutters. “I don’t…I don’t get it. Why are you not pushing this? Why aren’t you professing your love for him every time he walks into the room until he listens to you?”

“Because he has listened. It’s not as if he doesn’t know how I feel, and it’s not as if I don’t know how he feels. We both know we’re like to…well. Go there. One day.”

“One day…?” Harry echoed. “What, when you’re both fifty?”

Zayn shook his head furiously, crossing his arms defensively across his chest. “I’m not pushing him. I refuse to push him. If he wants me, he can have me. He knows that.”

“But what if he wants you to _chase_ him, Zayn?” Niall cried, frustrated. “What if he wants you to push? What if he’s standing over there right now thinking _wow, I really like Zayn and I thought he liked me too but then he just completely backed off_?”

“He wanted to take things slow!” Zayn wailed. “That was his suggestion, not mine! You both know if I had it my way he would be mine and I would be his and it would be that easy but I can’t have it my way! Not this time. And I would rather wait, I would rather waste years waiting for him than lose him.”

“Christ,” Niall huffed. “You are _so_ fucking melodramatic.”

“No, _you’re_ melodramatic,” Zayn argued. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Lou?” Harry said suddenly, and Louis’ eyes snapped up to his. “What do _you_ think?”

Louis considered his answer carefully, weighed up his words. “I think,” he said slowly. “That if I were in your position, if I had someone I liked as much as you like Zayn, and there was any chance in the world that that person liked me back, I would go for it. I wouldn’t…I wouldn’t force anything, but I certainly wouldn’t pretend like there’s nothing there. Because that’s a luxury, Zayn, finding someone who wants you back the same way you want them, however tentatively. So I wouldn’t waste time. Not a second. If that sort of happiness was in my reach, I would try and take it without even thinking.”

There was a moment of long, heavy silence. “ _See_?” Niall said then. “Wise words from Mr Tomlinson _indeed_.”

But Louis wasn’t looking at Niall, or at Zayn. He still had his eyes locked on Harry. Harry who hadn’t taken his gaze off of him since he started speaking. Harry who was still staring across at him with such intensity that his skin prickled with the warmth. It felt different, somehow, the way they were just looking at each other. Changed. _Charged_.

“Take it without even thinking?” Harry said eventually. “That’s very proactive, Lou.”

“Well,” Louis said, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks under his gaze. “Don’t you just get sick of waiting for everything?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, and Louis thought his voice sounded thick, heavy. “Yeah, I do. I _am_.”

Before Louis had a chance to answer or even contemplate Harry’s words, Zayn was shoving another glass of wine into his hand and telling him to drink up. Louis sipped the drink gratefully, for the first time feeling vulnerable in Harry’s presence, unsure of the twist the evening had suddenly taken.

The evening wore on. Louis wondered if the other two at the table could feel it, the tension that was slowly building between him and Harry, electric and so tangible that Louis was almost positive he could taste it. He knew _Harry_ could feel it. He was instigating it, for Christ’s sake, still staring at him unabashedly across the table through his eyelashes like that, making him feel all flushed and hot. Knocking their knees underneath the table, brushing their hands together at every given opportunity, biting his lip, holding his gaze for too long, giggling like a teenage girl at everything Louis said…Harry had always been handsy when he was drunk, but this was different. This was _more_. Something had shifted since they’d been sat there in their booth, since Louis had spoken so frankly about going after what you want. Louis didn’t know whether it was a good change, though – especially since every time he looked across as him something pooled hotly in his stomach before he could stop it. Just one evening of shameless flirting on Harry’s part and Louis was doomed to being perpetually aroused. Which was fine, you know, in the soft lighting of the restaurant with the wine running through him like electricity – but it might cause problems in the morning when Harry was sober and he realised he didn’t want him and all Louis would be able to remember was the way those green eyes had looked at him when he thought for an hour or two that maybe he _did_.

After the main course and before dessert, Louis had to physically remove himself from the table. He practically _ran_ to the bathroom, because he was so wired and on edge and jittery from all of Harry’s lingering, lusty gazes and the feeling of skin on skin and _fuck_. It had been building for hours, building with the wine and the conversation. He hadn’t felt this before, not this strongly. He’d always _loved_ Harry, thought he was impossibly sweet and handsome and perfect, and he’d always loved the kissing too. But he’d never felt like _this_. Never wanted to rip his clothes off and cover every inch of his smooth creamy skin with purple marks, tainting him, claiming him.

 _Fuck_.

He leant over the sink and splashed his face with cool water, willing his heart to stop pounding so hard. He looked at his reflection in the mirror. His cheeks were flushed pink from a mixture of longing and shame and they burned hotly. It was a new sensation, but he sort of liked it. He couldn’t really remember a time when he’d looked so alive, so-

The bathroom door swinging open cut Louis’ thought short, made him jump in surprise, his heart rate turning up an extra few notches. A head appeared round the side; a head surrounded by a heap of wild dark curls that he would recognise anywhere.

“Jesus Haz, you scared me!” he said, regaining his composure and turning back to the sink. “I’m nearly done I-”

Harry cut him off, pulling him around to face him and smashing their lips together and pushing him backwards against the door all in one swift, lithe move. Louis barely had time to catch his breath and his head was spinning round and round and round – a little from the wine but mostly from Harry, Harry kissing him furiously like he’d waited all his life just for this moment, Harry pinning him against the wood, holding him there in place, the smell of Harry, the taste of Harry, just…just _fuck_. _Harry_ full stop.

“ _Lou_ ,” Harry growled, resting his forearms against the door and tilting his head to deepen the kiss, licking and biting and kissing Louis utterly _senseless_ , until all he could see was Harry, all he could feel was Harry, all he could _think_ was Harry. “Fuck!” Harry hissed then, pulling away and panting heavily, his whole body still pressed up against Louis’, swamping him, drowning him. “I’m sorry I…I shouldn’t have…this isn’t-”

“-just shut up and kiss me,” Louis said flatly, standing up on his tiptoes to pull Harry’s lips crashing back down to his. Harry didn’t argue.

When they finally pulled away some minutes later they were both giddy and breathless, foreheads pressed against one another, staring into each other’s eyes. Harry’s were ridiculously bright and green and blown wide with longing and Louis thought that maybe he didn’t need anything else in life if he had those eyes looking at him in that way.

“Lou,” Harry said, swallowing hard. “From day one I’ve had these…these feelings. For you, I mean. Right from the start. And I’ve tried to stop them, I’ve tried to move on but I can’t because everything just keeps coming back to you. And I know you don’t really do relationships but I…well, I’d really just give anything in the world to _try_ , you know? With you. I want to _try_. Because I’ve only known you a year but it’s just been the _best_ year and I can honestly really see us spending so many more together and…and…” He took a deep breath, his voice shaking slightly as his green eyes searched Louis’ face. “And I just really like you, Lou. I know I’m as ineloquent as fuck, but that’s the gist of it. _I like you_. And I want to be with you, if that’s…if that’s at _all_ possible.”

And Louis just stood there smiling at him, beaming like the love-sick fool he undoubtedly was. He leant up again to press another kiss to Harry’s lips, this one soft and sweet and gentle like the one from his birthday, like they had all the time in the world for fast, wild, desperate ones. And they _did_.

“Finally,” he murmured then, and when Harry broke into a smile Louis thought that it shined brighter than the sun and the moon and the stars and everything in-between.

 

* * *

 

 

_May_

 It was in May they realised their five-man house was going to have to be a much more temporary thing than they’d previously thought.

Louis found Liam sat at the kitchen table one day surrounded by paperwork, reading glasses perched on his nose as he peered down at a spreadsheet covered in numbers. He was frowning to himself as he punched numbers into a pocket calculator, and didn’t even look up when Louis walked in.

“You alright Li?” Louis asked, and Liam held up a single finger, eyes still glued to the spreadsheet. He punched in one finally number, studied the display and then scribbled something down into a notebook.

He took his glasses off and tucked them away in his pocket, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “No,” he said then, and he sounded tired, weary. “Not really.”

“What’s up?”

“The landlord put the rent up,” he sighed, and then suddenly slammed his hands down loudly on the table top. “Fuck!”

Louis flinched back slightly; he wasn’t sure he’d ever heard Liam swear. “So what does that mean?” he asked eventually. “For us?”

“It means we can’t afford it,” Liam said, chewing his lip. “We were already struggling before, but with an extra fifty quid a week each I just…I mean, I know _I_ can’t do it. I’m barely scraping by as it is. And this place is horrible overpriced already and the bills have all come in and we don’t have enough cash to pay them and I…I…” he trailed off, burying his head in his hands.

“Hey,” Louis said gently, reaching out to rub his shoulder. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about the bills, Liam. We’ll get the cash for you. Today, even.”

“The house, then?” Liam said, raising his head just enough to meet Louis’ eye. “What about the house?”

Louis shrugged. “I don’t know. Can’t we just…tighten up a little? Be a bit more rigorous with the bills. Have less showers? Cut the heating?”

“Cleanliness is a human _right_ , Lou,” Liam sighed. “I could never and _would_ never suggest that we stop having showers. We shouldn’t have to sacrifice that, you know? That is a basic need. And we’ve barely used the heating at all, have we? Just lots of blankets and things. But thanks to the _shitty_ insulation we’re still paying for it.”

Louis slumped down into the chair beside Liam. “So what do we do, then? If we can’t afford to pay the rent?”

Liam didn’t answer for a long, long time, his eyebrows knitted tightly together, lips in a thin line. “We move out,” he said finally. “There’s not…I mean, there’s nothing else we can do, is there? We have to leave.”

“But we haven’t even been here a _year_!” Louis frowned, suddenly very attached to a house he had been completely ambivalent to minutes beforehand.

Liam let out another dejected sigh. “Yeah. I know.”

They sat there like that for a while, side by side in silence, mulling over their sudden change in fate. They had to leave. They had to move away from this big old house, just when they’d finally started settling in and thinking of it as their own. Louis knew it hadn’t been a permanent residence – at least, he’d known it deep down somewhere, tucked away in a place he hadn’t really considered – but he never would’ve thought it would’ve been quite this temporary. He thought they’d have another year, maybe two, maybe more. He’d thought they stay until _July_ , at least. But no. They had to go and they had to move on.

“It’ll be alright,” he said out loud, more for Liam’s sake than his own, because he’d never seen the boy look so miserable. “We’ll move out and we’ll find a new house for us to live in. And maybe _this_ one will have better insulation.”

Liam managed a weak smile. “Yeah.”

Just _yeah_. And it didn’t sound like much, but to Louis it was a _lot_ because he knew how much it must’ve taken for Liam to bite back all of his worry, all of his doubts and his fears. But he did, he held them all back for Louis’ sake so that he didn’t have to bear the burden too, and for that Louis’ was so grateful. Liam was such a good person, and one day Zayn was going to be a very lucky man.

“You’ll see,” Louis said, giving him a squeeze. “It’ll all turn out fine. I promise.”

“When did you become so optimistic?” Liam asked faintly.

Louis smiled at him, sincere and warm and bright. “When you guys showed me how much there is to be optimistic about,” he said simply.

*

Liam  sat down with them all a few days later, once the numbers had all been crunched and he was absolutely sure there was no way they could stay in the house. The rest of the boys took it well, better than Louis did – although he supposed to them this house had been more of a stepping stone whereas he had made so much progress here, he had gotten so much better these past these eight and a half months that he felt like he owed something to the creaky old building.

They all reassured Liam in the same way Louis had, with smiles and squeezes and jokes, even though everyone around the table knew just how fortunate they’d been to find a five bedroom house in London for the price they did in the first place. Next month’s rent wasn’t due for a week, so they had two choices; find another place to live before then, or pay the increased rent for an extra month to give them extra time. Louis couldn’t decide which one was less desirable.

They left it at that, deciding that they would start house hunting in the morning. It was a gloomy five that headed up to bed that night, filled with worry and dread and disappointment that the good year they’d all toasted to back in September was being cut short three months early.

Harry knocked on his bedroom door just after eleven, while Louis was browsing for jobs on his laptop. He liked to do that from time to time, if only to remind himself of all the jobs he could have that were much _worse_ than his.

“Hey Haz,” Louis smiled at him when he stuck his head round the door.

Harry smiled right back, wide and easy and beautiful. “Hey Lou. Can I come in?”

“Always.”

He shut the door behind him and crossed the floor to where Louis was sat at his desk. He leant down to his height, looping his arms around his neck and pressing a soft kiss against his lips in greeting, as was customary now. Ever since that night in the bathroom of Liam’s restaurant, kisses had been frequent, stolen every moment the two of them found themselves alone. Sweet, gentle kisses, kisses that tasted like promises.

“Hey,” Louis murmured again, pulling Harry back down to kiss him again, and again and again.

Eventually Harry pulled away, giggling. He knew he had his goofy smile on, his _Louis_ smile, but he really couldn’t bring himself to care. They were like that, the two of them. So caught up in each other that the rest of the world just sort of ceased to exist. “Find anything good yet?”

“Not yet,” Louis sighed. “I’m destined to work in a newsagents for the rest of my life.”

“You don’t really mind it though,” he said, and Louis had to shrug because _no_ , he _didn’t_ really mind it; the pay was way more than he deserved, his boss was lovely and it was just a few days a week. Still, it was a job for a fifteen year old kid looking for pocket money, not for a fully grown man. “…besides,” Harry went on. “You’ve got two jobs now anyway. Newspaper seller and professional footballer. You should be really proud of yourself for jugging all of that and a totally packed social life.”

“Ha!” Louis grinned. “I guess I should.”

Harry grinned back and they just sat there like that for a while, grinning stupidly at each other. Louis wondered if it would ever wear off, the giddiness, the butterflies, the swooping of his stomach whenever Harry looked his way. He doubted it, seeing as it had been going on for well over a year already. He _hoped_ not, anyway. He liked feeling like this, young and free and stuffed full of love.

“So,” Harry said eventually, sinking down onto the bed, and Louis turned round on his own chair to face him. “…about the house.”

“What about it?” Louis frowned. Was _Harry_ worried about it too? He _was_ a worrier, after all – not in the same way as Liam, though. Liam worried about money and time and work and other practical things – Harry just worried about _people_. What they thought, how they were feeling.

“We’re going to have to move out,” he said, as though it wasn’t painfully obvious.

“Yeah.”

“And it’s going to be really difficult to find a place with five bedrooms.”

“Yep.”

“And no one is going to want to share a room, either.”

“Nope.”

“So I was thinking, maybe you and I could…I don’t know, maybe we could look at getting a place?”

Louis’ eyes snapped upwards. “ _What_?”

Harry looked back at him with wide eyes. “I…I mean, there’s no pressure, obviously. At all. I just thought maybe it would make things easier if we split up, that’s all.”

“You want to live with _me_?” he managed to say, even though the words felt all strange in his mouth – too big, too important.

“Of course I want to live with you,” Harry said flatly. “Wasn’t I…I mean, haven’t I made that clear? I thought I was being pretty obvious about how I felt, Lou.”

“No!” Louis said quickly. “No, I didn’t mean that. I just don’t see why _you_ would want to live with _me_.”

Harry looked at him like he was insane. “Well apart from anything else, you’re my best friend,” he frowned. “But if you want to stay with Zayn I get it. I totally get it. Oh fuck, Lou. Just…forget I said anything, yeah? It was a stupid idea. Way too much way too soon. We’ll look for five bedroom houses. Or maybe I could live with Niall or something. Or maybe-”

“-no,” Louis cut him off, leaning over to clamp his hand over Harry’s mouth. “Don’t say that. Don’t go there.”

Harry just looked at him reproachfully until he let go.

“Okay,” Louis said then. “Go back outside and then come back in and ask again, okay? Say ‘Louis, would you like to share a flat with me?’”

He raised an eyebrow in question, but did as he was told, pushing up from the bed and closing Louis’ bedroom door behind him. He tapped his usual pattern of knocks onto the wood and then waited.

“Come in!” Louis called, biting back a smile.

Harry eased the door open and let himself in. he stood there for a moment in the doorway, just looking at Louis, watching him, sizing him up.

“Lou,” he said finally. “Would you like to share a flat with me?”

Louis was on his feet, crossing the room and closing the space between them. “Yes,” he breathed as he folded himself into Harry’s arms. “Of _course_ I’d like to share a flat with you, you idiot.”

Harry blinked down at him in surprise. “You do? You wouldn’t rather stay with Zayn? It’s not too big of a step?”

“It’s not and I wouldn’t and I do,” Louis assured him. He started conjuring it up in his mind, the flat he and Harry had shared before, with its bright rooms and its memories. Would they find the same flat? Would they be just as happy there? He hoped so. _God_ , he hoped so.

“I don’t want to make you feel like you have to choose, Lou,” Harry said, eyebrows still knitted together in worry.

“Haz,” Louis said firmly. “You’re not. And even if you were…I’d choose you, Harry. I will _always_ choose you.”

Harry’s breath hitched in his throat, and his green eyes flooded with so much warmth and fondness that it made Louis’ chest hurt just looking at him. “And I will always choose _you,_ too.”

 “Then it looks like we’ve chosen each other,” Louis said softly, and pulled Harry down for a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading, and I hope you liked it!
> 
> [follow me on tumblr?](http://hustleandsin.tumblr.com/)  
> :)


	6. June/July/August

 

* * *

_  
June_

Harry and Louis didn’t get much alone-time in the house. They were always being coerced into the living room to socialise, or dragged out on nights out. It was never really harryandlouis, or even just Harry and Louis – just harryandlouisandniallandzaynandliam. And that was fine, mostly, because Louis loved them all to pieces. Just, sometimes he wished he didn’t have to share. He wanted his curly-haired, green-eyed boy all to himself.

One Sunday when Niall and Zayn had gone to the gym, Harry and Louis and Liam were sat in the living room watching telly and lazing around with all the windows and the doors open because it was actually quite warm for once.

“We should have a barbeque tonight,” Liam said suddenly. “A proper one, not just burnt burgers.”

Harry looked over at Louis and Louis looked back at Harry, because they’d become so close lately that they were practically one person. They didn’t even really have to speak anymore, they’d become that good at reading each other.

“Yeah,” Louis said then, speaking for the both of them. “That’s a good idea, Liam.”

“I’ll drive down to the shops now and pick up some food,” he said, standing up from the sofa. “You wanna come?”

“Um,” Harry said. “Actually…”

Liam looked between the two of them, at the second look they were sharing – this one more pointed, one that didn’t just say _yes_ or _no_ , but one that said so much more, words they couldn’t say aloud. “Fine,” Liam sighed. “I get the hint. Alone time, right?”

Harry let out a barking laugh and clapped his hand over his mouth, because he knew they were obvious sometimes but he hadn’t known he’d been _that_ obvious. Louis, at least, had the decency to blush.

“You’re disgusting,” Liam said, but he was grinning. “I’ll be back in an hour, okay? And I really don’t feel like walking in on anything so behave yourselves, yeah?”

“Of course,” Louis said solemnly, and beside him Harry bit back a giggle.

Liam rolled his eyes at them and waved goodbye, and a minute or two later they heard the front door slamming shut behind him and then for the first time in what felt like forever they were well and truly and finally alone.

Louis felt like a teenager again, nervous and excited, charged with sweet anticipation. They had a whole hour, all to themselves. Suddenly an hour felt like a very, very long time.

Next to him, Harry let out a yawn, stretching upwards and outwards, his gangly limbs taking up just as much room as always. Then he curled back in on himself, on Louis, folded around him and into him like it was the only place in the world he ever wanted to be, pulled him down so that Louis’ head was on his lap.

“Hey you,” he said with a smile, staring down at him.

“Hey you,” he echoed back, reaching up to run his fingers through Harry’s curls. Then, “You need a haircut, love.”

“I thought you liked my hair?” Harry pouted.

“I love it, H, but I also love your eyes and pretty soon I won’t be able to see them if your hair keeps growing so damn fast.”

“H?” Harry said.

“What?”

“H. You just called me H. You do that sometimes, you know,” he said.

“Do I?” Louis frowned, because he had never meant to, never even thought about it, really. “Sorry.”

“Sorry? Don’t be stupid, Lou. I like it. I love it, in fact. It’s…it’s like it’s _ours_ , you know? Our thing.” He traced nonsensical patterns across Louis’ skin with soft fingertips, always gentle, touching him like he was made of glass. “To be honest, you could probably call me dickhead and I’d still love it. I think _everything_ just sounds good coming out of your mouth.”

“Shut up,” Louis blushed, burying his head in Harry’s chest.

“Make me,” Harry demanded with a smirk, and so Louis stretched upwards, shifting until he was pinning Harry down, wrists by his side, straddling him. Harry wondered if he could feel just how hard his heart was beating.

“What, like this?” Louis asked, and his voice came out all low and hoarse.

“Yeah,” Harry breathed. “Like this is good.”

Louis lowered his face down slowly until their noses were almost brushing, until their eyes were level and he was drowning in the impossible green, and then he pressed a little, fleeting kiss upon Harry’s mouth before moving away with a smile.

But Harry stopped him, pulling his wrists easily out of Louis’ grip to catch him by the back of the neck and pull his head back down, crashing their lips back together, properly this time.

They were still lying on the sofa, kissing, when Liam got back an hour later; lips pink and puffy and eyes glazed over with fondness.

 *

No matter how much time they spent together and no matter how much they got to know all the tiny little details of each other, Harry Edward Styles never ceased to amaze Louis. Like in the way he was so comfortable around little children or the way he always knew what to say to make people feel better or the way he physically couldn’t hold a grudge to save his life.

Today, Louis was mostly impressed by his cooking skills.

He’d always been the chef of the house by default, because he was the only one who actually had any knowledge of how to cook that went beyond macaroni cheese, pizza or microwave meals. Every now and again he would rustle up a meal for the five of them to share, like fajitas or a chicken casserole and they would all sit around the kitchen table and make a night of it. When it came to barbeques, though, Harry had never been let anywhere close. Zayn was the self-proclaimed barbeque king, and no one ever really argued with him since they were usually drunk when they had them and couldn’t really bring themselves to care whether the food was charred to death or not.

That night, though, Harry put his foot down.

“Oh no you don’t,” he said to Zayn, taking the tongs right out of his hand. “I’m manning the barbeque tonight.”

“Hey!” Zayn scowled, trying to grab them back off of him. Harry just held the tongs above his head, way higher than Zayn or any of them besides Liam would ever be able to reach, because if Harry had to be so freaking lanky for the rest of his life then he might as well make the most of it. “But I _always_ cook! Tell him, Louis!”

Harry turned to look at Louis, and Louis just shrugged, biting back a smile. “Don’t bring _me_ into it.”

“ _Haz_!” Zayn begged, jumping up again, arms stretched out. “Come _on_! This is my _thing_!”

“No,” he said firmly. “Because Liam went out and bought us all this lovely food and I’m not going to stand by and watch you ruin it again.”

“I don’t ruin it,” Zayn huffed, but he fell back onto his feet and stopped trying to take the tongs back – probably because of the mention of Liam, Louis reckoned. He knew he was exactly the same when it came to Harry; embarrassingly, nauseatingly, painfully in love.

So Harry manned the barbeque for once, and Louis sat right beside him on the decking, just watching while the others messed about with a football at the end of the garden. He didn’t know why he found it so fascinating, watching him cook, but he did. Fascinating and endearing and irresistible all at once.

“You do know when we live together you’re going to do all the cooking, right?” he asked him.

Harry smiled down at the smouldering coals, absently flipping over a burger. “Is that so?”

“Hmm. Gonna turn you into a proper little house wife.”

He let out a barking laugh, easy and infinite, turning to look at Louis with eyes full of affection. “Yeah? What does that make you, then? My husband?”

“I’ll be the breadwinner, obviously,” Louis told him. “I’ll come home from a long day of selling newspapers to the locals and you’ll be waiting for me with a pair of warm slipped and a piping hot meal on the dinner table.”

“Christ, Lou, you’re twenty two not seventy two.”

“I’m _old_ ,” Louis sighed.

“Yeah, well. You’re still a child at heart, so I think that’s all that matters. A very young child, at that.”

“You love it,” Louis smirked, and Harry flashed him another smile, this one softer.

“Yeah,” he said. “I really do, Lou.”

They stayed like that for a moment, caught up in each other, just staring. Louis thought that maybe he preferred the moments like this, moments when they didn’t have to speak, when they could just feel each other. Him and this beautiful green-eyed, curly haired boy of his.

“Smells good,” Louis said finally, and Harry tore his eyes away from him to look back down at the barbeque.

“Hmm,” he agreed, tending to the sausages. “Reminds me of home, a little. Of Gemma.”

Gemma was Harry’s sister. Harry didn’t really talk much about his home life, and Louis knew that was probably because he knew Louis couldn’t talk about his own. He’d only mentioned Gemma a handful of times, but Louis wished he would talk about her more. He liked listening to Harry, liked finding out more about him. He wanted, eventually, to find out every single thing there was to know. Eventually, though, because they had time.

“She wants to meet you,” Harry said suddenly. “Her and Mum. Which is probably stupid and too much but I guess I sort of mention you a lot and they-”

“-I’d love to meet them,” Louis cut him off.

He looked taken-aback, letting out his breath in a sigh of relief. “…yeah? You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Louis insisted. “Really. You have no idea how much it means that you even asked.”

Harry broke into a smile wider and brighter than any Louis had ever seen before. “Maybe when we’re all settled into our new place they can come down and visit,” he gushed, and Louis could feel the excitement radiating from him.

“I’d like that,” Louis said, standing and reaching up on his tiptoes to press a soft kiss to Harry’s forehead.

*

It was the best barbeque that any of them had ever tasted – not that it came as much of a surprise to anyone. The only thing Harry managed to burn was a single piece of chicken, and that was all Louis’ fault really since he distracted him mid-turn by smiling and made it fall onto the coals. Still, Niall assured them that even that piece tasted good.

“Okay,” Zayn said begrudgingly as he reached for a third perfectly cooked burger. “I officially surrender the title of Barbeque King.”

“Thanks,” Harry grinned.

“It’s not something you can take lightly though, Haz,” he warned, perfectly serious. “It’s a very big responsibility.”

And when they all laughed, the sound echoed upwards and outwards into the night, before it was swallowed by the darkening sky and lost forever.

 

* * *

 

_July_

July was the last month that the boys spent together.

After weeks and weeks of searching for a new place, Harry and Louis had found their new apartment at the end of June, a beautiful modern place just big enough for the two of them. It had glossy oak floor and cosy, plush furniture, and the whole flat seemed to be permanently flooded with bright, warm sunlight.

They’d spent the whole of that day being led around hopeless potential apartments by a woman with a pinched face and a perpetual scowl, and by the time they got to the last one they were tired and gloomy and starting to feel like maybe the whole world was just against them. But as soon as they reached the front door of the last place, Louis just knew.

He and Harry had just stood there in the middle of the living room, bathed in a soft orange light from the setting sun, and smiled at each other.

“This is the one,” Harry had said, reaching out to touch him, to be close, to be near. “This is home.”

Louis had just nodded wordlessly and linked their hands together, fingers entwined, and wondered whether Harry had any clue of the fact that for Louis home wasn't a flat, or a house or even a place at all, but rather wherever he was, wherever Harry was; wherever they were together.

Zayn and the others had found their place too, just a few streets down. It was much bigger and more open with a fantastic kitchen and an incredible view of the city from the living room, and it was perfect for them (even if Niall liked to complain to anyone who would listen about how awful it was going to be for him to have to live with ‘the love birds’, to which Zayn and Liam would flush red and steal glances at each other from across the room, nervous and giddy like teenagers on the brink of falling in love for the very first time).

They started packing two weeks before Harry and Louis were due to move out. None of them really considered how much stuff they would be taking with them until Zayn came home one day with a whole bunch of cardboard boxes and all of them were filled almost instantly with menial things like kitchen equipment or their winter wardrobes.

It took them the whole fortnight to get everything boxed up completely, and by then the house felt empty, hollow. None of them had realised it, but over the past nine months they’d been leaving pieces of themselves there, filling up the corners and the spaces with their laughter. It was evident in the photos Harry had started leaving around the lounge, candid shots of the five of them all together, which were now stuck neatly into an album at the bottom of one of Harry’s boxed labelled Bedroom, and it was evident in the colourful comics Liam had started collecting sometime after Christmas that had been stacking up on every available surface but were now jumbled in amongst his football card collection from when he was little and his worn out PlayStation.

The day before Harry and Louis were leaving, Niall came home from work at five o’clock with two crates of the finest beer he could find for under twenty quid for _one last blow out altogether in this stupid old house, yeah?_ No one argued – there had been something heavy in the air all day, a sense of finality and of change that none of them were really ready to accept or face up to. Maybe this is what they needed to be able to move on – one last night of drunken debauchery before they went their separate ways.

They sat outside in the garden to start with, since the sun was still halfway in the sky and it was uncharacteristically warm for England. The faded decking smelt like sunshine and freshly cut grass and summer, and for a few hours they just basked in the sensation of feeling infinite, like the day was going to last forever and if it did then nothing had to change and they could all stay as they were, perfectly perfect in the moment.

But then the sun started setting, and they’d drunk their way through the first crate and Niall was hungry so they moved inside so that Harry could rustle up something easy that didn’t require much preparation of equipment that was already packed away.

When the food was ready, they moved into the living room with huge bowls of pasta and the second crate. They sat around the coffee table in the middle of the floor and they talked and talked like in just a few hours time they would never get the chance to talk again. Liam talked about his work, about the promotion he was sure was in the pipework. Zayn talked about a few colleagues of his who’d shown interested when he’d talked about how he’d always wanted to start a band. Niall talked about a girl he’d met down at the pub last week who he was positive was his soul mate and could handle Guinness better than anyone he knew. Louis told them all about how his boss’s sister was opening an antiques shop nearby and that his boss had suggested to her that she offer Louis the job of manager. Harry talked about his course and which modules he hated and which ones he loved and then he mentioned that he’d been thinking of becoming a teacher when he finished and Louis felt his stomach flip because hadn’t he always wanted to be a teacher too, except for drama not sport?

Somewhere between his seventh and eight can Liam disappeared off to the bathroom, and without him the whole room dynamic seemed to change, seemed to pause. They all sat there, staring into space and not really talking, because without Liam they weren’t them and if this was what not being them felt like when it was just for a few minutes, how on earth were they going to cope indefinitely?

“This feels too fucking weird,” Niall sighed eventually, climbing off the floor to the sofa. “Like we’re all on death row or something, waiting for the end.”

“…except for the fact that we’re getting a new place, not a death sentence,” Louis pointed out.

“Yeah,” Niall said gloomily. “Except for that.”

“I know what you mean though, mate,” Zayn said. “I sort of wish we could pause right here, you know? Never move forward.”

“Sounds perfect to me,” Harry hummed, nestling his head into the crook of Louis’ neck. Louis just smiled down at him, running his fingertips through his soft curls.

Suddenly Liam reappeared in the doorway. “Hey lads, I thought we could all have a look through this before we go,” he said, holding up Harry’s photo album. “If that’s alright with you, obviously Haz.”

He just shrugged. “It’s you lot that’s in it.”

So Liam settled down on the sofa in-between Harry and Zayn and opened up the album across his knees, fingers brushing the glossy pages with the utmost care. The first double-spread was covered in pictures of them playing football for the university. One of Harry in his kit on the day of his first game, one of the four of them together with Liam in the middle, grinning stupidly. One of Niall and Zayn holding up the cup they’d won that year, and one that some passer-by had taken of the huge bundle the whole team had created at their last training session. Louis missed that the most about university. Not just playing the football, but being part of team. Plus Harry looked really good in the blue shorts which was, you know, an added benefit that he’d come to miss this past year.

The next two pages were from the previous year in general. Snaps of the five of them together out and about around the university, at parties, at other sports events, in Harry’s halls or in the boy’s student house, or at their graduation. Louis couldn’t help but notice how different they all looked, even though it was less than a year ago. Himself especially – it didn’t make much sense, but he thought he actually looked younger now. In the pictures from back then he was smiling still, and to anyone else he would look like a normal, happy teenager. Louis remembered, though.

He remembered how he still had to force some of those smiles, even then. How some days were good, some days were great, but others weren’t. How some days he would wake up and feel fine and look forward to university and seeing Harry and the others, and then some days he barely made it out of bed. Louis thought that, maybe, he should sad looking back and remembering how things had been, but he didn’t. He just felt relieved, relieved that that was then and this was now and relieved that when he smiled he didn’t have to force it anymore – it just came naturally, wide and big and so bright that sometimes his chest hurt from trying to contain all of his happiness.

The pictures that followed documented the last nine months they’d spent together in the house. Move-in day, with Zayn half hidden inside a cardboard box and Niall posing with a handful of bubble wrap. Halloween, with them all dressed in their silly costumes before the guests arrived and one particularly unflattering shot of Zayn with his head in the toilet as his body reminded him just how badly he handled vodka. Firework night, with Niall lighting the fireworks and Zayn Liam bent over the barbeque and a shot of the charred burgers and one of Harry looking up at the sky like he’d never seen something so beautiful in all his life – which was Louis’ personally favourite.

They were photos from Louis’ birthday, of his amazing cake and of him opening his gifts. Photos from the post-Christmas meal they’d had at the start of January. Photos of them playing in the snow, of them all huddled around their snowman, chuffed to bits. Photos of the time they’d redecorated the kitchen and ended up with more red paint on themselves than they did on the walls. Photos of Niall, Louis, Harry and Zayn all covered in mud after the football trial, arms around each other, heads thrown back in laughter. Photos of Liam in his waiter uniform, of the cheque he’d received after his first month – nearly six hundred pounds just on tips. Photos of Zayn wrapping him up in a hug and then of Niall and Harry joining in and then of the five of them in a pile on the floor, crying with laughter. Photos of the day Niall had tried to cook an entire meal for the first time without any help. Photos of the oven on fire, photos of him being scolded by the firemen and then a picture of them all sitting on the living room floor eating take away pizza while they aired the smoke out of the kitchen.

Photos from the first and last garden party they’d thrown. Photos of the garden full of guests, the party in full swing, and photos from the morning after where the entire lawn is covered in bottles and cans. Photos of the lord of the rings marathon they’d had a few weeks back, and a photo of Louis that Harry had taken, with Zayn and Niall asleep on each shoulder and with Liam’s head in his lap.

The last picture on the last page was a big, blown up version of the five of them that they’d taken as a sort of piss-take at Christmas. They were all wearing red Santa hats and fake beards and stood in front of the tree pulling stupid faces, and then they’d sent it out to everyone they knew. It summed them up to a tee, really.

“Shit,” Niall said as Liam shut the album some hour after he’d opened it. “I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.”

“Don’t cry,” Harry said. “I haven’t gotten round to finding a protective case for it yet.”

Niall leant over to punch him and Harry laughed and then they were all laughing and maybe crying just a little bit at the same time because _fuck_ , it had just been a really good time, hadn’t it? The very best. And now it was ending.

“This is à bientôt,” Liam said firmly, more to himself than anyone else. “This isn’t au revoir.”

“Not goodbye,” Louis said softly. “Just see you soon.”

“I swear to god, if you forget about us…” Niall threatened, and Harry snorted with laughter.

“I swear to god if you forget about _us_!” he hit back, and then Niall was chuckling and reaching over for a hug and pulling everyone in and they were all sat there on the sofa piled on top of each other and holding on too tightly like they were afraid that if they didn’t, if they ever let go, they would all float away somehow and lose each other.

“I fucking love you guys,” Niall sniffed into Louis’ shoulder. “I really fucking do. You are the best men I could ever ask for.”

And Louis thought that maybe that just about said it all, really.

*

Louis found Zayn sometime in the early hours of the morning, lying down in the overgrown grass at the end of garden, behind the shed.

“Liam’s been looking for you,” Louis said, sinking down to the floor and lying beside him. It was their thing, sort of, lying in the garden. Louis liked that.

“Yeah,” Zayn said quietly. “I figured.”

“Niall’s got them all singing karaoke.”

Zayn shook his head in amusement, fingers running through the grass, tearing it up. “I figured that, too. It was that or someone murdering a hoard of cats.”

“You know, you’ve really changed since you found your inner rockstar,” Louis teased, but Zayn didn’t say anything. So Louis just tipped his head back and looked up at the starry sky and thought to himself how constant that was, being able to look up and see the stars. Because even though they were splitting up, they’d always be under that same sky, and the thought was very comforting.

“I’m going to miss you, mate,” Zayn said suddenly, and Louis’ eyes snapped over to him at the sound of his voice, choked all of a sudden like he was biting back tears – and sure enough, his brown eyes were shining.

“Hey!” he said. “What are you upset for, you idiot?”

“Because…because you’re leaving!” Zayn wailed. “You’re leaving me and we’ve been together so long that I don’t even know if I remember how to not be with you, how to live without you nearby, how to cope when you’re not there in the evenings to ask how my day went. You’re my best mate in the world, Lou, and after tomorrow I’ll probably never see you again. So that’s why I’m upset. Yes, I’m a fucking baby but I’m sad so excuse me while I cry, okay?”

“You’re silly,” Louis said fondly, reaching over to wipe away his tears with his thumb. “I’m not leaving you, Zayn. I’ll never leave you. I’m just moving on a little bit, yeah?”

“No, you’re moving on a lot. And without me!”

Louis bit back a smile, because Zayn was drunk and starting to sound like a petulant child, but like always it was endearing and he was endlessly adorable. “I’ll be a five minute walk away,” Louis said. “We’ll be round here all the time, you know that. Try and keep us away. Besides, I’m going to see you at training three times a week and then I’ll see you at matches too, when those start.”

“Hmm,” Zayn huffed, because deep down he knew Louis was right.

“You literally won’t be able to get rid of me,” he promised. “You’ve been my best friend for more years than I can even count. That’s hardly going to change now just because we’re not under the same roof anymore.”

“What about Haz?”

“What about Haz?”

“Is he…you know, is he my replacement?”

He was joking, obviously. He had to be, he must be, because that was the most ludicrous thing he’d ever heard. But then Louis caught sight of Zayn’s face, all wide worried eyes and trembling lip and his laugh caught in his throat.

“No!” he cried. “Fuck, Zayn. No. Harry’s…Harry’s amazing, he really is. But he’s not you and I would never want him to be. Just like I’m not Liam and you wouldn’t change that either.”

“Don’t know about that,” Zayn muttered, smiling for the first time.

Louis elbowed him in the ribs. “Prick.”

Zayn laughed softly, and the sound shifted something in the air, made it lighter. “Still going to miss you, though.”

“I know,” Louis murmured. “I’m going to miss you too. But we’ll be okay, yeah? You’re going to just fine, like you always are.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about, Lou.”

“I figured,” Louis sighed. “But I’ll be fine as well. I really will, Zayn, I promise. I’m so much better now. I really am.”

“I know you are,” Zayn said. “God Lou. I see it every day, in everything you do, and I am so proud. You’ve come so far these past few years and its…well. I can’t even believe it, to be honest. I’m still trying to wrap my head around it. I used to be so terrified, you know? That it would never get better for you, that you’d just have to keep suffering and there would never be anything I could really do to help.”

“You did help, Zayn. So much.”

Zayn shrugged. “I tried, at least.”

Louis shifted on the ground until he was sitting upright, looking down at him. “Do you have any idea how much it meant to me that you were there? Because you were always there, Zayn. Even when it was hard and even when you didn’t want to be, you were there. Whenever I needed you, you looked out for me.”

“Hmm,” Zayn mumbled again, not really believing it, or seeing how important he’d been.

Louis wondered how he could possibly make him see, see that all his life Zayn had been like sellotape, wrapping him up safe and holding together all of his broken pieces and stopping him from falling apart. He wished he could make him see how incredible he’d been, how he had quite literally saved Louis’ life several times over without even knowing it. Louis wished he could say all that, wished he could find the right words – but he couldn’t, and so he just stretched out his fingertips until they could feel the soft, warm skin of Zayn’s hand.

“You’ve always been family to me,” Zayn said then, his voice low. “Like the brother I never had. And you will always, always be my best friend, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis breathed. “Of course. And you’ll always be mine.”

“Good,” he smiled. “…but things are changing, Lou. They’ve already changed. We’re growing up, moving on, and maybe that means that I’m not your number one anymore-”

“-Zayn!” Louis protested, but Zayn just clamped a hand over his mouth to shut him up.

“No,” he said firmly. “I’m not. _He_ is, Louis. Harry is. And that’s fine, that’s great actually. Because if you’re happy, I’m happy.”

And in that moment Louis thought that maybe Zayn knew, that he understood. Because if Zayn had always been like sellotape, then Harry was superglue – not just holding him together temporarily, but putting the pieces back into their rightful places, sticking them there, fixing them. Permanently.

“I’m happy,” Louis said then. “I’ve never been happier.”

Zayn exhaled slowly, letting his breath rush out into the mild summer night. “Okay,” he said then, finally at peace. “Then I’m absolutely ecstatic.”

*

They decided to stay up to the watch the sunset.

All five of them were in a strange half-tired half-buzzed state, drunk on expensive beer and each other, and they arranged themselves out in a line on the decking. They would be exhausted later when they had to start shifting all the heavy boxes, all wrung out and weary, but they weren’t even thinking about that now. It was eerily quiet, considering they were just outside London, but they were in no rush to talk, not anymore. Everything that had needed to be said had been said.

The sun crept up slowly, inch by inch. Every little extra sliver that appeared over the skyline brought a little more light to the sky, spilling over the horizon like liquid gold. Birds started chirping in the distance, cars started running out on the streets and the world around them started coming back to life.

“Life goes on,” Louis noted softly, breaking the silence.

Harry took his hand in his, and Liam reached out for Zayn, and Niall, sat in-between them, slung his arms around their shoulders, holding them all together just like always.

 

* * *

 

_August_

August was full of kisses.

Kisses that didn’t have to be secret anymore, or stolen. Open mouthed kisses on the kitchen counters or against the fridge or lying vertical on the sofa, goodbye kisses and hello kisses, late night kisses and early morning kisses, drunk kisses and sober kisses. Louis didn’t think he would ever grow used to the feel of Harry’s lips on his, the taste, no matter how long they decided to just kiss for. He didn’t think he’d ever be not giddy, not overwhelmed, not totally and utterly lovesick.

Louis liked that. Louis liked that more than anything.

*

Living alone in an apartment with just Harry was really…well, really different.

A good different, though. Like in the way that he woke up to the smell of freshly cooked breakfast, or the way they curled up on the sofa at night to watch television without anyone catcalling. Sometimes Harry would leave him little notes when he left the house, a post it on the fridge that said _gone to get some milk, the kettle’s on for you love x_ or _at the gym, be back in an hour – I’ll bring takeout! x_

Harry just seemed to radiate light. It was more obvious when it was just him around; he filled up every corner of the flat with his energy and his warmth and it just made Louis sort of breathless, really. Like he literally took his breath away, left him reeling, because how could someone that beautiful and that gentle and that flawless want him? Still, he did, apparently. And so August was full of kisses and Louis had never felt so much like he belonged in his own life.

Liam and Zayn and Niall were constantly in and out of the flat, just like Louis and Harry were constantly in and out of theirs. Any lingering worries that they would drift apart were soon banished, once they all realised that things were exactly the same between the five of them, just a little more spread out. Everything was exactly the same, except...well, except it was better.

*

It was in August that Harry finally plucked up the courage to invite his Mum and his sister down to meet Louis.

They booked a hotel in Central London for the entire weekend, and arranged to go out for dinner with all five of the boys on the Saturday night to Liam’s restaurant (partly because Liam could get them twenty five percent discount but mostly because he was proud of the place and liked to show it off at every given opportunity).

Gemma looked like Harry. That was the first thing he thought when they arrived, and the thing that hit home hardest. _She looked like Harry_. It was in the shape of her face and the colour of her lips and the shade of her hair. Her eyes landed on Harry and then flitted quickly across to Louis who was probably sitting a little closer than necessary, and then she broke into the second most dazzling smile Louis’ had ever seen.

“Louis, right?” she said, striding right over and completely ignoring her little brother.

“Uh,” Louis stuttered, suddenly shy. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s me.”

She was stood right in front of him, still grinning like he’d made her entire day, and then she leant down and wrapped him up snugly into her arms, squeezing him tight and holding him close like he already meant the world to her.

“Gem!” Harry whined next to him, mortified. “Could you fucking not be so embarrassing?”

“Harry!” Anne scolded. “Language Mr!”

Gemma let out a laugh, squeezing Louis once more before pulling away. Louis caught sight of Harry’s face, bright red and flushed right to the tips of his ears.

“I am so sorry,” he muttered to Louis while Gemma and his Mum went around greeting the other boys.

And of course he was sorry, wasn’t he? Because that was so Harry, to be modest and humble and self-conscious and adorable. But  he didn’t get it, he didn’t know how good it made Louis feel for someone to look at him that way, to accept him so totally and completely before they even really knew anything about him. Because it was still so hard for him, even now after everything, to see himself as everyone else around him did.

“Don’t be sorry,” he said. “Never ever be sorry.”

Harry shot him a relieved smile and reached under the table to give his leg a squeeze, but Louis grabbed hold of his hand before he could move away and locked their fingers tightly together, holding on for dear life in case one day _this_ , all of this, would someday end.

*

Later that night when it was just the two of them back in the flat and they were curled up on the sofa with the television on mute, just talking, Louis decided he wanted to tell Harry about his past.

It wasn’t a decision that had come out of nowhere, though – he had been thinking about it for a long time, almost since the first time they met. Because Zayn had been right when he’d said Harry was his number one, and surely that meant that Louis owed him the truth? Harry had never pushed, never asked questions. He’d just given him space and support and stood by him without knowing all the facts, for which Louis was eternally grateful. The meal had gone well and before they’d all split up to go their separate ways Anne had pulled Louis aside and thanked him, actually thanked him for making her son _so bloody happy_. Which was ridiculous, frankly, because why should she be so grateful to him when her son had not only made him the happiest he’d ever been, but had also saved him entirely?

Still, Harry had shared his family with him, opened up and let him in and now it was Louis’ turn to do the same, no matter how hard it would be and no matter how much it would hurt to go back to that place, to delve into the Do Not Open box and pull out some dark, repressed memories

“I never knew my dad,” Louis started. “Mum met him while she was travelling and they had this whirlwind romance. She always used to say how much she loved him - I remember that much. She never even told him she was pregnant – I’m not sure she even knew his last name. It was just Mum and me until I was five years old, and then she met Craig. And he was okay, at first. At least, I don’t really have any bad memories of him from that time. He treated Mum okay, even when she had her first heart attack and couldn’t leave her bed. He looked after her and he looked after me and everything was as okay as it could be. Then she had her second heart attack and she didn’t…well, she didn’t get better. I was at school; I was six and a half years old, when she died.”

“Lou-” Harry gasped, instinctively reaching for him.

“-wait,” Louis said, recoiling from his touch, because he was too raw, too open. “I’m not…I’m not done.”

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled, lowering his hand. “Go ahead.”

“Well,” he said slowly, swallowing. “After mum was gone, Craig sort of changed. She left me to him, and he must’ve known because he signed the papers and everything after her first heart attack, but I don’t think he ever really thought it through, because he never wanted children and he definitely didn’t want me. At first it was small things, you know? Like, he wouldn’t be back in time for dinner and I’d have to put myself to bed hungry, or he would forget to pick me up from school. He shouted a lot, too. I remember being eight years old and hiding under the bed. But he didn’t start really hurting me until I was eleven. Said it was because he wanted me to fight him back but I…I never did. I couldn’t.”

Harry’s hand reached over and covered Louis’, and this time he didn’t flinch away. It made him feel safe somehow, now that he was suddenly surrounded by all the memories he’d spent so long trying to bury.

“That carried on for a few years. Zayn was the only thing that kept me alive. I figured out a system in my head, a way to shut it out and pretend it wasn’t happening – I think that’s when the nightmares started, too. I used to get the most awful nightmares, and I’d be begging myself to wake up, except then I _would_ wake up and I’d realise that perhaps the monsters I was running from in my dreams weren’t as scary as the ones I was hiding from in real life. Then I got to sixteen and Zayn helped me report him. I was too terrified of him to do anything before, but then the police took him away and I moved in with Zayn and his parents and things started getting better, a little. But I didn’t. I just got worse.”

He took a deep, shaky breath, running a hand through his hair. Harry was still staring at him, green eyes just a little too wide, body just a little too tense and still.

“They put me on medication and through therapy but it never really helped. I hated myself, Haz. I literally couldn’t stand myself. Because I had been so weak and I’d let him walk all over me and I had no one left. And I was so fragile, all the time. Pathetic and tragic. I hated people and I hated leaving the house – it was just too overwhelming. Every day was a struggle, every day felt like I was drowning and I was so exhausted just from keeping myself afloat. I went to sleep every night praying that I wouldn’t wake up, that the pain would just end. But it didn’t. It never, ever did.”

“What happened then?” Harry asked quietly.

“Zayn brought me down here, to London. He found us a place and enrolled me at the university and the change of scenery was so good for me, it really was. It didn’t fix me, but it helped. There were far too many memories back home, something at every corner to remind me of what I’d been through. My first year was difficult. Zayn settled in and made friends with Liam and Niall, but I still felt like I was drowning most days. Second year started the same. Then Zayn and I got into the car accident and that just…that just changed things, really. Not immediately, but that definitely set the cogs moving. Maybe it was my subconscious’ way of showing me just how much I didn’t really want to die – and so I figured that if I wasn’t dying then I should probably try and start living. And then third year, I met you and…”

“…the rest is history,” Harry finished softly.

“Something like that,” Louis said, and when he smiled it was real, genuine.

Harry reached over and pulled Louis into his arms, holding him tight, holding him close. “I’m so sorry, Lou,” he mumbled into his ear. “I’m sorry he hurt you and I’m sorry you lost your mum and I’m sorry you didn’t know your dad and I’m sorry you had to go through all those things. But at the same time, I’m also sort of glad.”

“You’re sort of _what_?” Louis said, pulling roughly away.

“I’m glad, Louis. Because if all those horrible, awful things hadn’t happened to you then maybe I would never have found you and that’s messed up, probably, but I wouldn’t swap having you for the world. So now I have you I swear that I am going to spend as long as you’ll let me making sure you never have to go through any of that ever again.”

“Oh,” Louis managed to say, his chest aching with the sheer love he was harbouring for his curly haired boy.

“I love you, Louis Tomlinson,” Harry sighed, breath ghosting over his lips.

Louis’ heart leapt upwards into his throat. He hadn’t realised how much he’d been yearning to hear those three words until they were sitting heavy in the air around him. It wasn’t _I’m **in** love with you_ , but maybe one day it would be; either way it was enough for now.

“I love you too, Harry,” he said eventually, swallowing past the lump in his throat. Because he did. He really, honestly did. And that was amazing in itself, really, because before he met him he wasn’t even sure he was _capable_ of love anymore. He’d loved his mum and that hadn’t been enough, that hadn’t saved her. And he’d loved Craig too, to some extent, and that hadn’t stopped him from hurting him. But now he loved Harry, even after everything. He loved Harry so much that it hurt, so much that it left him breathless, left him reeling. And Harry, his curly-haired, green-eyed, dimple-cheeked boy loved him back. And Louis was happy, Louis was so, so happy, because if he ever doubted it before, he knew now for sure that everything was going to be alright.

“This is a forever thing, isn’t it?” Harry murmured. “What we have is a forever thing.”

“Yeah,” Louis breathed. “Yeah, I reckon it is.”

“Does that scare you?”

“Should it?”

“Maybe. It’s a pretty big concept.”

“I don’t know,” Louis shrugged, letting Harry fold him up into his arms. “What could be better than sharing a forever thing with the one you love? That’s not scary, H. There’s nothing scary about love. Not when it’s with you.”

And when Harry pressed a kiss to the back of his neck, soft and sweet and perfect, Louis felt whatever fleeting worry he was holding on to fade away into nothing. He had finally found the boy from his dreams and they had made it to here together, here to Louis’ reality. And Louis truly, honestly couldn’t have asked for anything more than a forever with his curly-haired, green-eyed boy.

* * *

  
xxx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading this story,  
> I've already had a few requests for oneshots, so if there's anything you'd like to know about louis' past, or something that might have happened over the year that i didn't cover or something that might happen in the future then feel free to send requests [here](http://hustleandsin.tumblr.com/) and I will try and write them :)  
> i hope you have enjoyed Louis' journey.  
> xx


	7. One Shot (1 - Have you ever been alone in a crowded room?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the prompt 
> 
> _'You should totally write something from Harry's POV when he is at that new year's party'_

Harry is at a party. He doesn’t really remember where it is, and he doesn’t really remember how he got there, but he is there all the same and he is bored and drunk and lonely.

He hasn’t even been back in Holmes Chapel for a week and already he’s falling apart. Fuck. It was the longest the five of them had spent apart since last the summer, but so much had changed in those few months anyway. Now they were living together, literally living in each other’s pockets, inseparable. It was rare for them even to spend one night out of one another’s company – and he should hate them by now, surely, he should at least get annoyed with them from time to time, but actually he just found himself loving them all a little bit more every single day.

Some a little more than others.

Oh fuck, some a _lot_ more than others. Which wasn’t a surprise or a revelation or anything because he’d never really been interested in girls and what with Louis looking like such a fucking _angel_ all the time…And okay, he knew he’d always been in love with Louis, since that very first day in the car park when he’d walked over with Niall and he’d been sprawled all over the hood of the car, his tanned skin glowing in the sunlight. Harry still remembers the feel of his hand in his own like it was yesterday. Harry still remembers the look in his blue eyes, so wide and so beautiful. Harry still remembers the feeling that had pooled in his stomach, so hot and so real and so overwhelming. Doesn’t even have to remember it at all, really, seeing as he still feels it now. A whole year and a half later and he still feels it every single day of his life.

So Harry knows he’s sort of in love with his best friend, he _knows_ that. He’s come to terms with that, he’s accepted that, he’s learnt to live with that. Because it’s easy to deal with it when Louis is there with him, when he can reach out and touch the older boy ever-so-gently, just the smallest of casual brushes of his fingertips across his skin to remind himself that he really _was_ there and he really _was_ real. But it’s harder here at home, harder without him. Harder when he can’t just find any old excuse to get closer, to creep up behind him in the kitchen and reach up over him to get something out of the cupboard as an excuse to breathe in his smell, harder when he can’t just curl up around him on the sofa. It’s harder, so much fucking harder and Harry misses him so much it actually hurt, somewhere deep in his chest. A dull, throbbing ache that never seems to go away, and only seems to hurt more the longer Harry is away.

Harry doesn’t quite know exactly when it happened. Can’t put his finger on the precise moment, the right day, even the right week. It didn’t happen in the middle of a certain conversation, didn’t happen because of a certain look. It just sort of _happened_ , and suddenly Harry wasn’t just _sort of in love_ with his best friend, he was full on and head-over-heels and truly madly deeply and completely and utterly and painfully in love with him. Maybe it’s only now that Harry is really starting to realise the full extent of what that means, though. Now that Louis isn’t around. Now that Harry feels so empty and useless and hopelessly alone because of it.

Since when did Louis become the thread, knotted and interweaved into Harry’s very seams to hold him together? Louis shouldn’t be the thread. Louis was the sun and Louis was home and Louis was _everything_ but Louis shouldn’t be the thread. Because Harry was too young for that, surely? Too young to rely so completely on another person. To be so fucking in love that he can’t really even remember to _breathe_ properly without Louis there.

But it had already happened and there is nothing in the world Harry can possible do about it. Even if he wanted to.

*

He didn’t know why he was even here. He never was a big fan of parties and he never really understood what the whole fuss was about New Year’s Eve. All it seemed like to him was an excuse to get wankered and then have an awkward five minutes after midnight when people go around and sing Auld Lang Syne and hug awkwardly.

He supposes that he came because he was guilt tripped into it. Because of all the mates he left behind here in sleepy old Holmes Chapel when he embarked on his exciting adventure to London. And Harry probably should’ve come back to visit more often, probably should’ve made more of an effort to keep in touch, but it was hard when he spent every waking moment thinking about Louis. His first year at university sort of passed in a rose tinted blur. He didn’t _want_ to come back home to visit his old friends because coming back meant leaving Louis and anyway, his old friends didn’t shine quite as brightly as the new ones did and maybe that was mean or something but he couldn’t quite bring himself to care because it was true.

But anyway, they found out he was home for the holidays and had convinced him to come along to the party, even though he hadn’t spoken to most people from the village for months and even though he’d rather just stay in with his Mum and Gemma. He’d said yes essentially because he was a walkover. Or, as Louis likes to put it, too nice for his own good. _Fuck_. Louis. _Louis, Louis, Louis_. _Everything_ is Louis and it makes Harry’s head spin. Or maybe that’s the vodka shots. It’s probably the vodka shots.

*

Midnight comes and goes. He stands in a room jam-packed with people and thinks it’s funny, really, that he’s never felt so alone. He thinks how he’d give anything, trade anyone, just to have his four best friends here instead. They could’ve stayed in, sat around in their living room and chilled out together. That would’ve been enough - because Harry never wanted any more than what they gave him.

People kiss on the screen as the clocks chime on the television and the sky above the London eye starts lighting up with fireworks - millions and millions of pounds worth, Harry guesses, but he’d rather the fireworks from their backyard any day. People kiss in the room, too. Suddenly Harry is surrounded by lots of people kissing and lots of whispered _‘I love you’_ s. There’s a girl at his side, and she’s blonde and she’s pretty and Harry should remember her name really since they went to school together for seven years, but he can’t.

“Hello Harry,” she says. “Long time no see.”

“Yeah,” he says dumbly, clutching on to his drink like it’s his lifeline.

“Not got anyone special this year?” she asks. “No one you should be kissing?”

And he shakes his head at her and she beams back at him but all he’s thinking is _not here, anyway_ and _no one that knows how I feel, at least_. And then he remembers the last time he and Louis had been face to face, the way he’d dipped his head down to press a soft, sweet kiss to Louis’ lips. The shock in Louis’ blue eyes, the surprise written all over his beautiful face. And then Harry thinks that maybe even if he _did_ know it wouldn’t matter because he doesn’t feel the same because Harry is his _friend_ and you’re not supposed to _fancy_ your friends, _goddamnit_.

“I could be your special someone, if you like?” the girl offers then. “Just for one night.”

And Harry looks at her, really looks at her for the first time. And he wonders how he’s supposed to explain this to her, that she’s wearing too much makeup and her hair is too long and her shoulders aren’t broad enough and she’s got too much of a chest and she’s too tall and she’s not _Louis_.

“Thanks,” he says as nicely as he can. “But no thanks.”

She looks hurt, upset, dejected, but Harry can’t bring himself to feel sorry for her. So he turns on his heels and leaves her there in the middle of a room full of kissing people head over heels in love with people who are just as head over heels in love back and tries not to think of the fact that if he had Louis here right now he’d kiss him so hard that his knees went weak and he saw stars and all he could think feel and breathe was Harry. The same way all Harry could think, feel and breathe was him.

*

Harry forgets a lot of names. Harry shouldn’t, because just like the blonde girl these people are the people he grew up with. But he forgets their names even so because just because something is old doesn’t mean it is precious and besides no more than a handful of people in this crammed house have ever given him reason to remember them. He thinks that maybe lately he’s been so spoilt by his completely unforgettable best friends that he’s forgotten what normal people are like. People who don’t shine brighter than the sun and people who don’t eclipse everything else.

Harry wishes he was like Liam or Zayn or Niall or Louis. He wishes someone thought _he_ shined like the sun, that there was someone somewhere who was blinded by all _he_ was. But Harry doesn’t hold out much hope for that, because he’s just a lanky little shit from Holmes Chapel with obscene levels of dorkiness.

He can’t remember the last time he was as dedicated to something as Liam is – he’s only in his first term of his second year at university and he would drop out in the blink of an eye to spend the rest of his days in the company of the rest of the boys. Except his mum and Gemma keep going on about _qualifications_ and _prospects_ and it makes his head hurt so he keeps turning up to the lectures even though they bore him to death.

He can’t remember the last time he was as passionate about Zayn. Because Zayn is passionate about everything – about cooking and about music and about drawing and about tattoos and mostly about Louis and keeping Louis happy.

He can’t remember the last time he was as fun as Niall, either. Because Niall is infinitely cheerful and can always brighten up a room and is never not smiling and Harry finds it both endlessly charming and a little exhausting at the same time.

And Harry can’t remember the last time he was as strong as Louis. Because Louis is still broken, smashed into a thousand tiny pieces, but he is so brave that it makes Harry’s heart swell. Because with every week that passes, even now, Harry can see how much better he’s doing – even when he has his bad days, even when he has to force a smile, he stays strong. Harry thinks Louis is an inspiration. Harry thinks that they’re all inspirations, if he’s honest.

But Harry is just Harry and so it’s no wonder that Louis will never feel the same way about him because Louis is the sun and he is sunlight and warmth and blindingly beautiful and he eclipses absolutely everything else in Harry’s life and the only thing Harry is even mildly good at doing is playing football and that seems so terribly insignificant in comparison, doesn’t it? Louis is his whole world and Harry is just _that fresher with fancy feet_.

So Harry forgets names and sometimes people look at him in annoyance or despair or even pity but mostly they don’t really care because he is just Harry Styles from Holmes Chapel and he upped and left them all for the big old city. And they feel sorry for him – it’s written all over their face and in their eyes – because they think that he sacrificed too much, that he lost too much by leaving. But they don’t know. They don’t get it. They don’t realise that Harry found absolutely everything in the world that he never even knew he wanted in London.

So he just looks right back at them. Because even though Louis isn’t his and never will be, and even though he’s probably not _anything_ in the world that Louis’ ever wanted, Louis is still _there_ and that is enough to keep him smiling.

*

He doesn’t mean to call him. He swears he doesn’t. Only, it’s late and he’s tired and he’s had far too much to drink because he thought for some reason that the vodka would fill the spaces in his chest that Louis left but it _hasn’t_. It hasn’t.

"Louis!" he says into the phone when he sees that he’s picked up. It takes a moment for him to answer and there’s a second where Harry is just standing there in the kitchen with the phone pressed far too tightly to the side of his head, waiting for Louis. Always waiting for Louis.

"Harry?" he says then, and his voice is thick with sleep. He sounds tired and young and beautiful and this is just the way that Harry loves him best, raw and visceral and real. "Is that you?"

"It's me, yeah!" Harry beams. He can feel parts of the spaces inside his chest filling up slowly, with little drips of warmth, ebbing into him just at the sound of Louis’ voice. And he was still miles and miles away, far too many miles, but he suddenly felt closer than he had in days.

He leaves the kitchen, leaves the noise and the people and his Holmes Chapel life behind so that he can be alone with Louis. He makes his way out into the back garden and keeps on walking until he reaches the end. There’s a swing there, a white one made out of pretty metal twisted into patterns. He sits down on it and swings a little. "Sorry about that,” he says then. “It's busy. Sorry."

"It's okay," Louis says. There’s another pause, and this time he clears his throat. "You alright?"

Harry stops with the swinging because it’s making his world shift to and fro and he already feels nauseous enough from all the alcohol running through his system. "Yeah,” he says firmly. Then, “…no. I'm...I don't know.” He takes a deep breath, blinking furiously at the floor to try and regain some sort of coherency “No, I'm okay. I'm fine. Just..."

"...drunk?" Louis offers.

"Yeah," Harry laughs. Tries to laugh, anyway. It comes out all wrong and sits heavy in the air around him. He wishes he could snatch it back, stuff it back down his throat. Un-laugh it. He wishes he was there in London right now. Not here, not so far away. "What you up to, Lou?"

"Well I  _was_  asleep, but-"

"-Fuck!" Harry moans. Because _obviously_. He knew that Louis and Zayn hadn’t got anything planned and he knew that Louis had decided on an early night. He knew all that. He’d just conveniently forgotten it, buried it deep underneath all his longing and his loneliness and his self-pity. "I'm sorry. I woke you up didn't I? Sorry.” He hangs his head in his hands, suddenly cold from the night air. He wishes Louis were there on the bench with him so that he could curl up around him, tuck his long limbs over him and under him until they were so tightly and intricately knotted together that they might as well just be one person. He bet he would be warm then. “You can...you go back to bed, yeah? Sorry. Ignore me. Sorry. I just wanted to-"

"-Haz!" Louis cuts him off. Harry might be dreaming it, it might be wishful thinking, but he’s almost _sure_ he can hear the smile lacing Louis’ voice. He hopes he’s not dreaming. He loves it when Louis smiles. He loves it when he makes Louis smile – when Louis smiles for him. "It's alright. Don't worry about it."

"You can go," Harry says. Because he hates the thought of Louis staying awake when he’d tired just for him. Hates it and loves it in equal parts. "I won't mind. Well, I would but I wouldn't. Yeah?"

"I'm not going," Louis says firmly. Harry can hear him sitting up down the phone. He pictures Louis in his bed, swamped in his duvet, cocooned in it right up to his neck. He imagines Louis smiling just like Harry is smiling. Oh he’d sell his soul for that – for him to make Louis as happy as Louis makes him. "So how's the party?" he asks after a moment.

Harry is silent for a minute, searching his head for the right word. Boring? Old? Tiresome? Hopeless? Empty? Lonely? "…big,” he settles for. And it’s not enough, not even nearly, but it’s true so it’ll have to do.

"Sounded it," Louis says and then he laughs. He _laughs_ and it makes the hairs on the back of Harry’s neck stand upright. It sends a shiver down his spine. Because Harry is in love with Louis but he’s also in love with his laugh. He’s in love with every bit of him, quite honestly. From his soft hair down to his tanned little toes, inside and out. "Lots to drink?" he asks.

Harry can’t really remember. Can’t remember when he stopped drinking the alcohol he brought himself and started drinking the cheap stuff laid out by the host. Sometime just after midnight, he supposes. Cheap, tacky vodka mixed with cheap, tacky lemonade. He looks down gloomily into the plastic cup still clutched in his hand even now. He doesn’t know why he drinks, except that it makes him miss Louis a little less. Except it doesn’t, does it? It just makes it miss him _more_. "Hmm,” he hums, and it’s not really an answer, but he’s never really been very articulate anyway so he thinks Louis will understand.

"Company good, then?" Louis asks.

Harry doesn’t answer. He has to bite down hard on the inside of his cheeks just to stop himself from blurting out the words he really wants to say. "I've had better,” he says finally. And that’s true too, even if the words don’t properly convey the message he wishes they would.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Harry pauses again, his mouth clamped shut. His head is spinning and his eyes are itching like he’s holding back tears and he just wants him. He wants him so much that he can’t think straight. "Why aren't you here, Lou?” he whines. And he’s too drunk to monitor what he’s saying, but he’s saying it anyway because there’s no one here to stop him and maybe Louis should just _know_ , anyway. Maybe then Harry wouldn’t have to be so constantly exhausted from hiding it, from burying it deep. “You should be here. I miss you."

"Yeah?" Louis says. It comes too fast and it sounds a little hollow and Harry can’t shake the feeling that he’s fucking things up monumentally but he can’t stop either.

" _Yes_ ,” he hisses. “Fuck. I'm drunk."

Down the line Louis lets out a laugh. Not a proper laugh, not a real laugh, and Harry knows he’s screwed it all up. "I figured you might be."

"Not that that wasn't true because I...it  _is_ ,” Harry rushes, his head pounding. He wishes his words weren’t slurring together so much, wishes they weren’t running into each other like soggy watercolours. “Shouldn't be, probably. Oh god. I mean, you're  _you_ , Lou. And I'm just _me_ and...”

He trails off, swallowing hard. “…but I _do_ miss you. And I'm so happy we're mates, you know? But at midnight everyone had someone and this girl grabbed hold of me and she wanted me to be her midnight kiss, you know?”

Why is he telling Louis this? Louis doesn’t care. Louis doesn’t want to know. Louis doesn’t want to _hear_ this.

“Fuck,” he hisses again. “But I said...I said  _no_. I said no because all I was thinking about was  _you_. Kissing  _you_."

Silence. Heavy, awful, endless silence that weighs down so hard on Harry’s chest that he can’t take in enough air, can’t take in _any_ air, can’t breathe.

"...Lou?" he says, and it comes out like a gasp, it comes out desperate. But he _is_ desperate so he guesses that’s why.

"You're drunk, Harry,” Louis says. And he doesn’t sound amused or tired or confused anymore, just…just _flat_. And that’s so much worse.

"So?” he says furiously, because he isn’t going to use that as an excuse. “I'm  _not_...” he trails off, frowning hard and trying to collect his thoughts. “I mean, this  _isn't_...I mean I'm like this _all the time_.”

All the time. When he wakes up in the morning and eats breakfast with him. When they watch films together. When they laugh together, when they make dinner in the kitchen, even when they _bicker_. All the time. Every single second of every single day he feels this way.

“Not just tonight,” he goes on. “Not just now.  _All_  the time. Oh fucking hell. Have I fucked it up? I've fucked it up, haven't I?”

He stops talking for long enough to choke back a sob of frustration. He cradles his head in his hands. “Shit Lou. I'm...oh fuck. Sorry. Ignore me. I'm going to...I'm going to go, okay? I'll speak to you soon. I'm so sorry Louis, I just-"

"Harry!" Louis cuts him off. "Stop babbling."

"Sorry,” Harry says morosely. And yeah, he’s far too drunk to be doing any of this, saying any of this.

"Stop saying sorry, too,” Louis says, but Harry can hear that the smile is back in his voice and that makes an infinite difference. That stills his heart and stops his blood from pumping so hard and stops his hands from shaking.

"I'm sorr- _fuck_. Okay. Um..."

"I miss you too," Louis says softly, suddenly, out of nowhere. And at first Harry can’t be sure that he’s heard him right, because _surely_ he can’t have just said those words, the ones that Louis has been longing to hear? Not so openly and so freely and so willingly?

"...you do?" he says weakly. And he’s hoping, he is.

"Of course I do you idiot. Just wish you knew how much."

"Wish you were here,” Harry mumbles. He wishes he could bring Louis back to Holmes Chapel one day. Back to meet his mum and his sister and the few friends he actually had any intention of keeping in touch with. He wishes he could walk around the village with him, hand in hand. Show him all the sights, buy him a drink in the local pub, call him his boyfriend. He wishes he could do all those things and more. So many wishes. He wishes Louis knew just _how_ many, though. How many 11:11s and shooting stars and birthday candles and eyelashes and dandelion seeds and copper pennies in water fountains.

"Yeah,” Louis says. “Me too. But you'll be back at the weekend, yeah?"

"Yeah,” Harry nods. Because he hasn’t thought of much else these few days he’s been at home. Always thinking of their house in London, of the five of them being reunited, of Louis. “At the weekend."

"Then we won't have to miss each other anymore, okay?" he says. And his voice is gentle and soft and Harry sort of knows he’s only being so nice because he knows what sort of a state he’s in, but still. He’ll take it.

"Okay," he agrees.

"Okay,” Louis echoes. “Now can you do me a favour? Go find yourself a glass of water and something to eat, yeah? Something with lots of carbs in. Toast, maybe. Can you do that Harry?"

Harry loves the way Louis says his name. Loves the way that most of the time he just calls him Harry and nothing else. Not Haz or Hazza like the other boys do. Louis just calls him Harry and occasionally H which Harry doesn’t really understand but loves anyway. So Harry nods, up and down up and down even though his head feels incredibly heavy and what he really wants to do now is curl up in the sound of Louis’ voice and fall asleep with him murmuring to him down the line. "Hmm,” he manages to get out. “Sure."

"Thanks Harry,” Louis says, and he sounds relieved. “You go do that now and I'll see you back here at the weekend."

"Okay," Harry says. He smiles, big and wide and bright, and he wishes Louis were here to see it. Louis would press his fingertips into his dimples and tease him endlessly and it would only make Harry love him more. "Night Lou. Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year, love,” Louis says tenderly. His voice is warm and incredibly soft. It’s one more part of him that Harry loves irrevocably. “…and Harry?"

"Yeah?" Harry says sleepily.

"I'm really glad you woke me up.”

And then he’s gone and all Harry can hear is the dull ringing of the dial tone. But still he sits there, Louis’ words swirling inside his mind, the phone still pressed to his cheek. He is frozen from the cold and so so tired and he’s still lonely and empty but he’s a little less of both and so that’s okay. Because Louis misses him too and Louis is looking forward to seeing him and Louis is glad he rang and everything is Louis and it is a whole new year now stretching out ahead of them and so Harry is _just fine_ as he rests his head back against the metal and lets the sleep drag him under.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to the anon that sent me this prompt! x
> 
> any more oneshot prompts you'd like me to fill, send 'em [here](http://hustleandsin.tumblr.com/) and I'll write them because I don't really ever want to finish this fic  
> thanks for reading, every one of your kudos' and comments are appreciated more than you will ever know x


	8. One Shot (2 - It's all part of a grander plan)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the prompts;  
>  _'You definitely should write a ziam one shot like from the beginning'_  
>  and  
>  _'Can you write something on Liam's pov?'_  
> 

Liam didn’t know Louis very well. He knew Zayn though.

He couldn’t really even remember the first time they’d officially met. He knew they’d been friends on Facebook way before they actually spoke in person, because they’d both joined the cider-tasting society at the university in the first week of term. Liam went along to the first couple of meetings. Zayn didn’t.

He supposes they met through Niall, really. Because Niall knew Liam and Niall knew Zayn. He and Niall lived in the same building block in first year, at opposite ends of the third floor corridor. He’d been a little intimidated by the Irish boy’s loud, raucous exuberance at first, overwhelmed by his vitality and his endless ability to laugh and smile. By the end of the first month, however, they were tight friends and Liam couldn’t for the life of him remember what had been so daunting about his grin.

Niall knew Zayn because of football. Liam didn’t play – the only sport he was only remotely good at was javelin, and they didn’t do that at the uni. He went along to a few training sessions with Niall though, and then when Niall made the team he started going to games too. He guesses that’s where he met Zayn – on the football pitch one evening, where the floodlights made his hair look silver and his eyes flash. Liam wishes he’d paid more attention, that he’d memorised the date or at least acknowledged that it was a momentous occasion. He hadn’t, though. He hadn’t _known_ at the time that it was going to be a moment worth remembering.

It was, though.

Liam thought that Zayn Malik was a mess. A hot, beautiful mess, but a mess all the same. He was a jumble of contradictions – loud one moment, silent the next, silly and then solemn. It drove Liam crazy, trying to figure him out, trying to get close enough to understand him. He never really got anywhere – Zayn was too good at building up walls and shutting people out. That is, until he met Louis.

The two of them were in the supermarket buying groceries when Liam spotted them. He almost didn’t go over, because he didn’t recognise the stranger beside Zayn and he’d also never actually had a conversation with him without Niall being there too. But then Zayn looked up and caught sight of him dithering at the end of the aisle next to the strawberries and Liam couldn’t not go over, really. So he did.

“Hi,” he’d said.

Zayn had looked between him and the smaller boy beside him. He’d cleared his throat and met Liam’s eyes, brown on brown. “Um. Hi, Liam. Liam, this is my flatmate Louis. Louis, this is my mate Liam.”

The smaller boy hadn’t moved, hadn’t even raised his head – but Liam caught the expression that passed across his face, brief and fleeting. Liam hadn’t been able to put a label on it at the time, but he soon figured out that that look had been a unique concoction of fear, self-loathing and panic.

“Nice to meet you, Louis,” Liam had said, polite as anything. Louis hadn’t answered though, and that had set off alarm bells inside Liam’s head. Still, he smiled his way through it and said goodbye to Zayn and excused himself, a thousand questions still floating around inside his head.

Zayn had turned up at his dorm later that night.

“He’s not well,” he had said before Liam even had a chance to say hello. “Louis, I mean. I’ve known him all my life and he’s not…he’s not really whole, okay? In case you thought he was being rude. He wasn’t. he’s just…he’s just not well.”

“I’m sorry,” Liam had said, because he hadn’t really known what other words could possibly be enough.

Zayn had just waved his hand. “It’s not your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault. But he’s my best friend and I look out for him, so…”

“I get it,” Liam said gently. He smiled at Zayn, big and wide and warm. “Do you want to come in? I make a mean cup of tea.”

Zayn had dithered on the doorstep, half looking like he wanted nothing more and half looking like he was ready to turn and run. “I would,” he said eventually. “Because that sounds like a challenge. I should get back to the house, though. I felt a bit uneasy when Louis is there alone.”

“He’s that bad?” Liam had said sympathetically.

Zayn had just nodded. Liam had understood then, in that moment, and he hasn’t questioned it since - Louis is broken and Zayn has made it his job to try and fix him. That’s all there is to it.

* * *

The thing about Liam is that he always tries too hard.

The entire first year of university he makes it his mission to have a conversation with Louis. By the time they break up for their Easter holidays though, Liam has pretty much figured out that it is a lost cause.  Liam doesn’t give up, however. If anything he tries harder.

He asks Louis’ questions, but Louis just answers with a nod or a shake of his head even when that isn’t really a sufficient answer. He smiles at Louis whenever Louis looks his way and most of the time Louis just looks back down at his feet. Liam tries not to mind, he really does, but it’s hard not to feel rejected.

First year ends and Louis is still a stranger, despite Liam and Niall’s efforts. The two of them and Zayn have become fast friends, however, so it isn’t all bad. Liam likes Zayn. Liam _really_ likes Zayn, actually. He thinks that maybe they could be best friends, one day, and so Liam concentrates on that instead of worrying about Louis.

*

Second year is more of the same. Louis is still bad and so Zayn is still beside himself with worry. The only times he ever really lets himself breathe is at football. Liam carries on going along just to see him relaxed and worry-free, even if it only lasts an hour or two.

Zayn is trapped inside Louis’ own pain, except he doesn’t know it and he doesn’t mind it and so Liam is trapped instead, trapped for him. Liam doesn’t know how he bears it, because it’s suffocating.

But Zayn _does_ bear it, without even a grimace – because Louis is his best friend and that’s what you do for the ones you love. So Liam keeps on worrying but he doesn’t say anything; he just smiles at Louis whenever Louis looks his way and hopes that one day Louis will smile back.

*

Liam is in a lecture when he gets the call about the accident. He’s almost sick right there and then in the corridor, because it’s Zayn and it’s Louis and it’s _serious_. He goes straight to the hospital, not even stopping to pick up his things from inside the lecture theatre.

Niall meets him in the lobby, ashen faced.

“Are they…?” Liam asks.

“They’re alive,” Niall croaks. “Just.”

Liam sinks into one of the blue plastic chairs in the waiting room. “ _Just_?”

“He’s in a coma, Li,” Niall says, his voice watery. “He’s in a fucking coma.”

Liam can’t speak, can’t move, can’t breathe.

“Louis is in a fucking _coma_ and they don’t know if he’ll wake up,” he hisses.

The relief that passes through Liam at the news that it’s not Zayn in the coma is so fleeting that it’s almost not even there, because it’s so quickly chased away by the fear and the panic of Louis being in a coma instead. Liam almost throws up again, but he manages to swallow it down. He manages to keep it together.

*

They’re not allowed in to see Zayn until the next day. He’s okay, mostly, except a mild concussion and an arm that’s broken in three different places. Niall is already there when Liam arrives, hugging him tight as if he’s scared that if he lets go Zayn will disappear. Liam knows the feeling.

Zayn meets his eyes over the top of Niall’s shoulder when he walks through the doorway and then his face is crumpling and he’s reaching out for Liam and then Liam is there, wrapping him up and holding him tight because Zayn is his best friend the whole world even though he doesn’t exactly know it just yet and when he hurts, Liam hurts too – and right now, Liam is in absolute agony.

“Liam,” he mumbles eventually into Liam’s chest, his voice muffled and thick with tears. “What if…what if he doesn’t wake up?”

“He will,” Liam says furiously, squeezing him so so tight.

“But what if he-”

“-he _will_ ,” Liam snaps, because he can’t even let his mind process that thought, can’t consider what that would do to Zayn.

Zayn looks up at him in surprise, teardrops clinging to his long lashes, eyes wet and shining. “Th-Thank you,” he chokes out then, and then he’s crying in Liam’s arms, great big sobs that shake his whole body.

Liam lets him stand there for as long as he needs, clinging on helplessly to the front of his shirt and sobbing into his neck. He holds him until the tears have run dry and the shaking has stopped and he can finally catch his breath once more.

*

The weeks that follow are almost unbearable.

Zayn is a wreck, even when he’s been discharged from the hospital with assurances that he is _just fine_. Except he’s not, he’s not at all, he’s not even close – but they don’t know that, they can’t see that, and even if they could there is nothing they can do to fix a broken heart.

Louis doesn’t wake up, and he shows no sign of improvement. He doesn’t deteriorate, though, and so Liam counts that as a win. Silently, of course. Zayn barely leaves his bedside, spends all day everyday cooped up in the tiny little hospital room on one of their tiny little plastic chairs. Hospitals in general make Liam’s skin crawl but he visits as often as he can anyway, if only so that Zayn doesn’t have to be alone. Liam finds Louis’s tiny little room suffocating, but he doesn’t say a word. He just sits in his own tiny little plastic chair and is everything and anything that Zayn needs him to be – a shoulder to cry on, a hand to hold, an ear to talk off when he’s particularly frustrated with the world. Niall comes in and out too, eager to do his part and help where he can, but he’s not there for Zayn the way Liam is. Zayn doesn’t need him to be, Liam doesn’t think. Sometimes it feels like all Zayn needs is Liam, and that’s just fine by him.

Zayn starts losing hope as the third week draws to a close. He starts scribbling things down in a little notebook, eyebrows furrowed and jaw set. He’s very secretive about it, hiding it away whenever anyone brings attention to it. Niall thinks that he’s writing down prayers, maybe. Doing every little thing he can to get Louis better. Liam doesn’t agree.

Liam knows he shouldn’t, but he looks at the notebook one morning when Zayn dashes down the corridor to the bathroom. The first couple of pages are scribbled out so much that they are indecipherable, but the next couple are much clearer. It’s a list, a long list of bullet points. _No black_ , the first one says, underlined three times for emphasis. _Lamborghini? Legal, illegal…check_ the second one reads. _Speech?_ the third says.

Liam turns the page. The writing is smudged on this one, runny and blotchy with tears. _Louis William Tomlinson was my best friend_ , it says. _I loved him more than I loved myself. He was like a brother to me and I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do without him right by my side where he belongs._

Liam stops reading. Liam feels sick.

Because Zayn is planning his _funeral_. Zayn has been sitting in the corner of the hospital room on his own every day, trying to figure out the logistics of having his best friend carried to church in a Lamborghini instead of a hearse. Zayn has been writing out his _speech_. Zayn has been preparing for the worst and that makes something deep inside Liam ache awfully.

Zayn appears in the doorway. Liam knows without looking up because Liam always knows when it comes to Zayn.

“You…” Zayn starts.

“I’m sorry,” Liam says.

They just stare at each other, tense and frozen. Louis’ heart beat beeps steadily away in the background.

“He’s not going to die, Zayn,” Liam tells him. “He’s _not_.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know that you can’t spend the next however many weeks convincing yourself that he _will_ ,” Liam argues.

Zayn steps forward into the room, shaky and unsteady on his feet the same way he’s been these past three weeks – Liam thinks it’s because he barely eats but Zayn won’t leave the room for long enough to have a sit-down meal and so they are at a sort of stalemate, really.

“Liam,” he says, his voice small. “What if…what if he _does_ wake up?”

“Then that’ll be brilliant,” Liam says softly.

“No, I…I mean it _would_ , I just…what if he wakes up, Liam, and he’s not _Louis_?”

“Who else is he going to be?”

“No one,” Zayn says thickly. “Nothing. He could be no one and nothing. What if he can’t talk? Can’t move? Can’t eat? What if he can’t think for himself? What if he wakes up and he just _isn’t_? He isn’t him and he isn’t anything? Because he’s already so broken, Liam. He’s already so bad, I don’t think he’d survive it. What if that’s worse for him? What if he would rather die than wake up and not be himself? What then?”

“That’s not our choice,” Liam says, standing to his feet. “That’s not up to _us_ , Zayn. He’s the one pulling all the strings, if you think about it. It’s him we’re waiting for here – if and when he wakes up it will be because that is the right thing to happen.”

Zayn just stands there looking at him, his face crestfallen and his arms limp by his side and his brown eyes shining with unshed tears. Liam wants to hold him tight, to show him that Louis isn’t the only one that’s broken now, that he is too. Liam wants to piece him back together until he’s whole and happy and normal again.

Then Zayn nods. Slow and reluctant, but a nod all the same. Liam opens his arms in offering and he steps straight into them, drawn like a magnet.

*

Louis wakes up a week later. Zayn is beside himself with happiness and so Liam is ecstatic, even when it becomes apparent that Louis has suddenly gotten worse since the crash. Because he was always very inward before, very contained and very quiet and very difficult to get through to, but now he’s just impossible.

Zayn tells Liam he feels helpless. Liam coaches him through the whole thing, gives him advice about what to say and how to act and how to make sure that Louis feels safe in his own home. Liam is still Zayn’s shoulder to cry on and his hand to hold and his ear to talk off, even now that Louis is awake and largely himself and everything should be fine. Except it’s not fine because nothing ever really is and Louis is still broken and so Zayn is still broken too, by association.

Liam wonders if Zayn knows that. That he and Louis are almost _too_ close, so close that they’re almost one person and that means that when one hurts the other hurts and when one breaks the other shatters too. Liam wonders if Zayn knows that he lets himself feel so much pain because he loves Louis so much. Liam thinks that even if Zayn _did_ know he wouldn’t change a thing. He wouldn’t love Louis any less just because it hurt or it was difficult to so wholly and so completely love someone who couldn’t love themself.

Weeks pass. Louis gets better and worse in swooping intervals. They get prepared for his first day back at university and don’t make it to campus. Zayn tells Liam that it’s fine and that they have time and that they’ll take it as slow as they need to, but Liam can tell that he’s worried. Liam knows everything when it comes to Zayn – Zayn is like an open book. He knows, for example, just how worried he is about the fact that Louis has stopped his medication. He knows that Zayn wants to force him to take it, because it’ll make him better, but he also knows that Zayn would never do that because Zayn is Louis’ friend and not his doctor.

Louis makes progress. Liam isn’t even sure that Zayn even realises it, really, because it’s slow and gradual and almost undetectable unless you’re looking for it. Liam sees it though, and so Liam stays positive and encouraging which Zayn is endlessly grateful for.

Liam keeps working on the conversation thing from first year, which is easier now that he is round the house much more often. Progress is slow there, too, but Liam doesn’t give up. It’s a skill he’s learnt from Zayn.

Louis starts talking. Little bits at first, just words or phrases – but even those are better than nods or shakes of the head. Then he moves on to full sentences, and then to actual conversations. It shouldn’t feel like a victory, but it does. Louis is just as much a part of Liam’s life as Zayn is and so Liam will always make every effort to make sure he knows. One day, when Louis looks Liam’s way, he smiles at him like usual.

Finally, Louis smiles back.

*

By the time they graduate they are inseparable.

Louis is so much better that he’s barely recognisable from that tiny, terrified boy that Liam first met in the supermarket all that time ago. He has Harry now, and Harry is so good for him. Louis is finally in a good place and so Zayn is there too, by association. The four of them find a house together with Niall for after they leave university and Liam couldn’t be happier.

He knows deep down that Louis will always be Zayn’s best friend because of their history and all they have battled through together, but Liam hopes one day he might come in at a close second. He loves all four of the boys to pieces but he has a special space in his heart just for Zayn. Because they are like magnets, and he is North and Zayn is South and they are so different that they are almost alike.

Zayn is Liam’s best friend in the whole world, the best one he has ever had, and Liam is so so happy with that.

* * *

Their friendship changes in one single night, out of the blue – fireworks night, to be exact.

Harry has never seen fireworks before, and Liam thinks that that’s really, really sad. He thinks the excitement and the thrill is something that every child should have had the opportunity to experience. Liam loves fireworks. He thinks they’re beautiful. Liam suggests they have their own show and everyone thinks it’s a good idea.

They’ve been living together for two whole months already, and they’ve just flown by. The five of them are settled in to the house and each other and everything is perfect. Liam and Zayn are getting on better than ever – almost too well, even, not that Liam thinks about that. He definitely doesn’t think about that.

They’ve bought food for a barbecue and blown a quite frankly obscene amount of money on getting a good range of rockets in a whole array of sizes and colours. Liam almost protests about it, since that is his way and he is so used to budgeting, but in the end he lets it go. He’s been doing that a lot lately, biting back his concern and just smiling instead, just letting himself enjoy the moment.

Zayn mans the barbecue ones the fireworks are all done. No one argues with him, because manning the barbecue is just his thing and none of them would ever take that from him. Especially not Liam. Liam watches him as he cooks, watches the concentration on his face as he flips the burgers and turns the sausages, as he does his best to make sure none of them go black from the coal. It’s difficult, because the barbecue is so small and because it’s so windy out, but Liam thinks he does a wonderful job.

They all gather around him, a barrier to the wind. It’s moments like this that Liam can’t quite comprehend how happy he is. Because he’s never been _un_ happy, exactly, not like Louis – but he’s never been _this_ happy either, and so it’s a surprise. He’s so grateful that he got put on the same floor as Niall back at the start, even if the water broke twice a month and they had 3am fire alarms on a regular basis. He wouldn’t change it for the world, because if he hadn’t met Niall he wouldn’t have met Zayn and then he never would’ve met Louis or Harry, either. Liam is so glad he met them all.

Liam is drunk, probably. Liam is always sappy when he’s drunk.

The meat doesn’t cook, despite their huddling and Zayn’s careful turning. Perhaps it’s too cold or perhaps the coals aren’t burning hotly enough, but either way the meat doesn’t cook.

“We should microwave it,” Zayn suggests eventually. “Because we’ve been stood here like lemons for an hour and all their doing is burning on the outside and staying cold on the inside.”

“Is that safe?” Liam asks before he can stop himself. Always worrying.

Zayn turns to look at him and Liam wants to look away, to look at the floor, because he’s still not sure how he feels about the way his stomach churns whenever Zayn looks his way. He doesn’t, though. He just looks back at him, brown eyes on brown.

“Of course it’s safe,” Zayn says, his voice soft. “Safer than a barbecue, by any means. If we microwave it we won’t die of food poisoning.”

“Or starvation,” Niall adds.

“Exactly,” Zayn nods, and begins piling the half-cooked meat back onto the silver foil platters beside the barbecue. “I’ll take them now, whack them in for a few minutes. It’ll be fine.”

“I’ll help,” Liam offers. Zayn smiles at him gratefully and hands him a tray.

He follows him into the kitchen and puts the tray back down on the counter beside Zayn’s own, stands to the side and watches while Zayn transfers the burgers into a microwavable tub and sticks them in on full power. He folds his arms across his chest and turns back round to look at Liam, leaning casually back again the fridge. Liam thinks he could be a model, he’s that beautiful.

“I’m glad you insisted we do this,” Zayn says then.

Liam doesn’t know what to say. He feels awkward suddenly, on edge, like he always does lately because he’s just so _obsessed_ with impressing Zayn. Impressing his _best friend_. Christ. “I didn’t…I meant…I really didn’t mean to _insist_. I didn’t want to push anyone, I just-”

“-hey,” Zayn cuts him off hastily. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant I’m glad you suggested it. It was a good idea, Liam. Harry really loved the fireworks.”

“Oh,” Liam says. He feels his pulse slow, his anxiety settle. “Well. Thanks, then.”

“You’re welcome,” Zayn says.

He breaks into a heart-stopping smile and Liam has to swallow hard because _he never signed up for this_. If he’d have known back when they graduated that he’d start looking at his best mate and thinking _things_ , thinking totally inappropriate and random _things_ , then he wouldn’t have agreed to move in with him. Because it was hard, pretending not to care or to be blown away or to be rendered speechless by the smallest, most insignificant things that Zayn did without even realising it.

Liam clears his throat. “How long are those going to take?” he asks, nodding over at the microwave.

“Another minute?” Zayn says.

“We didn’t do the corn on the cob,” Liam frowns. “How long will they take to defrost?”

Zayn thinks it through. “Not long,” he guesses eventually. “You want to put them in?”

“Yeah,” Liam says. “Yes please.”

He crosses the kitchen to where Zayn is leaning against the fridge. Zayn ducks out of the way for him so that he can swing open the top section, the freezer section. He digs around in there for a moment for the bag of vegetables, vaguely aware that if he were any closer he’d be pressed up against Zayn’s body.

“Got it?” Zayn asks, his voice low.

Liam’s fingertips graze the bag and he yanks it out triumphantly. “Yep!”

Zayn straightens up. Liam chucks the bag onto the kitchen table and turns back to shut the door, except he can’t. Because Zayn is stood right in front of it, right in the way. Right in front of Liam. Zayn takes a tiny step forward, barely even a shuffle, and then they _are_ pressed up against each other and Liam is on fire from his chest all the way down to his toes. Because he’s in denial, isn’t he? In denial that he fancies a boy and in denial that that boy is his best mate. But how can he deny _this_? When Zayn is so close and looking up at him and taking his breath right out of his lungs?

Zayn should say something. Zayn should move away or Liam should at least, but neither of them do and Liam can’t do anything but stare.

Then suddenly Zayn surges forward, covering Liam’s mouth with his own. There is a split second where Liam is too surprised to move, but then his body overtakes his mind and he’s stepping forward, crowding into Zayn’s space and pinning him against the fridge. Zayn’s kiss it hot and needy and fast and thorough and he licks into all the right places and spaces, their lips fitting together like they were made for this, made for each other. Zayn weaves his arms around Liam’s neck and holds on tight, pulls him closer until there is no space between them at all and everything is Liam and everything is Zayn and they are both panting. Kissing and panting and delirious with the sweet taste of each other.

Liam has been waiting weeks for this, since the first time he found himself staring at Zayn’s mouth and wondering what it would be like pressed against his own. He’s thought about this way more times than he would ever admit even to himself, late at night under the covers, and never once was it this good. Never once did he imagine it would make his head spin and he’s knees weak and his whole body taut and hot with longing, with wanting, with needing.

The microwave pings. The boys ignore it.

Someone clears their throat. Liam and Zayn spring apart as if they’ve been electrocuted and there is suddenly so much space between them. Liam looks at Zayn’s flushed face and glassy eyes in amazement, because that was all _him_ , _he_ did that and that it so beyond everything else _ever_ that he almost feels like exploding with happiness.

“Fuck,” Zayn hisses, ducking out of the way. The happiness ebbs away as quickly as it had come. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.”

Liam stands there beside the fridge, frozen to the spot and suddenly feeling very, very cold. It’s Louis standing in the doorway, and his eyes are very, very wide and suddenly Liam feels like he’s about to throw up because _what_? He’s drunk and he just made out with his best friend, and that _wasn’t supposed to ever happen_ no matter how much he dreamt about it, no matter how much he wished it could. Because how can things ever be normal now? How can Zayn continue to be friends with him now that he knows how Liam feels? Now that he knows that Liam not-so-secretly has feelings for him? That Liam is _so gone_ over him that it’s not even funny?

Zayn is going to hate him for what just happened. The thought makes Liam want to cry.

“Um,” Louis says, backing out of the room. “Everyone is waiting for the food. I'll just...I'll be outside.”

He disappears from the kitchen, and then it is just him and Zayn, stood there looking at each other. Zayn’s eyes are still glassy, still blown wide, and he still hasn’t quite caught his breath. Liam knows he looks just the same, if not worse.

“Liam,” Zayn says carefully.

Liam can’t take this. He can’t take Zayn letting him down gently because Zayn is too nice and would never want to hurt his feelings. He can’t take hearing the words _sorry but I don’t want you_ coming out of his mouth. He _can’t_.

“This…this was a mistake, wasn’t it?” Liam asks, his voice embarrassingly shaky. And he knows the answer already, knows what Zayn will say because in what parallel universe could he possibly saying anything other than _yes_?

But Zayn doesn’t say anything at all. Zayn just looks at him, his eyes suddenly guarded and cold, arms crossed defensively across his chest as he pushed past him and out of the room. Zayn hates him. Liam wants to cry, but Liam won’t. Not until they’ve eaten the food and everyone has gone to bed and he’s all on his own.

_Then_ Liam can cry.                                      

*

Liam has been tucked up into bed trying to drift off to sleep for a full hour when the knock comes at his door.

Liam knows that knock, that series of four quick taps in quick succession. Liam sits up in his bed, his heart pounding, and pulls the covers up tight around his neck.

“Come in,” he croaks out, his voice unnaturally loud in the still room.

Sure enough it’s Zayn’s head that appears round the crack in the door, hesitant and careful. He doesn’t speak for a moment, just looks at Liam. Then, “Can I…?”

Liam just nods. Zayn tiptoes into the room and shuts the door quietly behind him. He makes his way carefully across Liam’s bedroom floor, caught in the moonlight streaming in through a chink in the curtains and looking so beautiful that Liam _aches_ with it.

Zayn reaches the end of Liam’s bed. He sits down on it gingerly, facing Liam. It’s dark, but Liam can still see Zayn’s eyes burning. He resists the urge to bury underneath his covers and avoid this, this awkward, mortifying, tragic confrontation.

“Liam,” Zayn mumbles.

“Yes?” Liam breathes back.

“About earlier…”

“It’s fine,” Liam says quickly. “I get that it was a mistake, I really do.”

Zayn just looks at him, swallows hard, looks down at his lap. “What if…what if it _wasn’t_?”

“What?”

“What if it _wasn’t_ ,” Zayn repeats. “What if kissing you wasn’t a mistake? What if it just so happened to be the best thing that’s happened to me in ages?”

Liam just stares at him. Liam can’t breathe.

“…because it _was_ ,” he goes on. “It really was. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to kiss you for, Payne. So so long. And it was perfect and it sort of felt like a dream except I really, really hope it wasn’t because I don’t know if I could deal with that.”

Liam clears his throat. “It…it wasn’t. it wasn’t a dream.”

Zayn nods slowly. Then, “Do you hate me, Liam?”

Liam’s eyebrows furrow instinctively in surprise and confusion. “No,” he says. “Not now and not ever, Zayn.”

He lets out a tiny little sigh of relief. “That’s good,” he murmurs. “Because I really, really like _you_.”

“Are you joking?” Liam says. “Are you screwing with me?”

“When have I ever done that?” Zayn says, hurt. “Liam, I…I think about you all the time. All the _fucking_ time. You have no idea. And I’m sorry if that scares you or weirds you out but it’s the truth and I’m through with pretending otherwise.”

“I...” Liam starts. His pulse is through the roof, his tummy alive with butterflies. “I think about you too.”

“Yeah?” Zayn says softly.

“Yeah,” Liam says. “That’s why I’ve been weird lately, I guess. Because I get nervous around you. I just wanted to impress you.”

“Babe,” Zayn chuckles. “Trust me, you blew me away that first time you came to watch Niall train.”

Liam feel s something warm spreading through his veins like liquid fire. “You remember that?”

“I remember everything,” Zayn says soberly.

They sit there on Liam’s blue covers and stare at each other. Liam feels like something inside him has settled, something that’s been restless for weeks. He still feels on edge, especially with Zayn so close, but it’s a good feeling now. Now its electricity and heat instead of uncertainty.

“About the kiss,” Liam says eventually.

Zayn hangs his head, embarrassed. “I should’ve asked permission.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” he admits. “And I’d really, really like you to do it again.”

Zayn looks up in surprise. “What, like…like _now_?”

Liam smiles. Christ, he loves this boy to pieces. Always has done, really, maybe not just on this particular level. “Now is as good a time as any, Malik.”

“Huh,” Zayn says. He shuffles closer on the bed until he is sitting right in front of Liam. Liam stays very still as Zayn raises his hands up to cup his face, as he leans in closer and closer until he’s pressing his lips gently to Liam’s. _Then_ Liam moves. Then Liam loops his arms around Zayn’s waist to pull him closer. Then Liam starts kissing him back.

It’s almost three o’clock in the morning when Zayn finally leaves Liam’s room. Things aren’t fixed between them yet, because so much has changed in so little time. Their entire friendship has shifted and that is going to take a lot of adjusting to, especially in the morning when they’re both sober and not caught up in the rose-tinted haze of late night kissing. Still, they both know what they want from each other, eventually. Eventually, one day, in the future – and that’s enough for Liam

Zayn hovers in the doorway before he leaves.

“Goodnight Liam,” he says softly.

“Goodnight Zayn,” Liam smiled. Then, “…and for the record, I really, really like _you_ too.”

Zayn looks surprised and then pleased and then ecstatic. “Good,” he says then as he slips out into the hallway. “That’s good.”

And it is. It really, really is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to the anons that sent me those prompts! x
> 
> any more oneshot prompts you'd like me to fill, send 'em [here](http://hustleandsin.tumblr.com/) and I'll write them because I don't really ever want to finish this fic  
> thanks for reading, every one of your kudos' and comments are appreciated more than you will ever know x


	9. One Shot (3 - This is your biggest mistake, what a waste, what a waste)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the following prompts; 
> 
>  
> 
> _i would love a one shot where Louis Maybe tells Harry about the dream he had when he was in coma and explains why he calls him H? Thank you !_
> 
>  
> 
> _oneshot where harry finds out that louis dreamt about him! plz <3 _
> 
>  
> 
> _can you write a one shot about Harry finding out Louis dreamed of him before he even met him when he was in a coma and continued to dream of him for weeks after and how he kind of knew stuff was going to happen? I'd love to see harry's reaction._
> 
>  
> 
>  _Please please please write a oneshot where louis tells zayn or Harry that what he dreamt in the hospital came true, or zayn suspects that or something?_  

Up until he was nineteen years old, Zayn Malik very seriously considered the day he'd accidentally swapped his rarest Pokémon card for one that was considerably shitter as the worst day of his life. Looking back, he supposed that was some sort of a giveaway of what sort of childhood he'd had. Not privileged, exactly, but nothing like the sort of one Louis had had. He had a great set of parents and a nice house and lots of friends and he _wasn’t scared_. That was the main difference. Zayn had nothing in his childhood to be afraid of and so losing his sacred holographic Charizard just about shattered his entire world for about ten whole minutes.

Still, that all changed on the day of the accident. November the seventeenth became the worst day of his life and he hoped that nothing ever, ever came close for the rest of his years.

He'd been pestering Louis about joining the football team, he remembered that. He remembered the way that Louis’ lips had gone thin with the pressure, the way that his eyes had gone blank and vacant. It seems stupid in hindsight – it was just such an irrelevant, redundant thing to pester him about in the whole scheme of things. Louis had turned away from him, his face pressed up against the window, his breath fogging up the cold glass, and that’s the last image Zayn had of him before the first car hit.

If Zayn thought about what it might feel like to free-fall from a great height, he imagined it might feel similar. Everything in slow motion, out-of-focus and sluggish like treacle, and everything in fast forward too, rushing on and hurling onwards towards the end. He could hear things, like horns and shouting and eventually sirens, but it was all muffled inside his head. All he could hear clearly was his own breathing, his own blood pounding in his ears.

It had seemed endless, the turning of the car and the pain and the screeching of tires, but then they had finally stilled, lying upside down in the middle of the road with the wheels of his scarlet Corsa still turning round and round, and Zayn had glanced over at Louis one last time before the unconsciousness swept over him. He was so tiny, and all folded up on himself, and ever, ever so still.

Zayn thought that he'd never seen him look quite so peaceful.

* * *

The thing is, Zayn is just so completely and utterly beside himself with relief when Louis finally wakes up that there is a lot he doesn't pay attention to. He doesn’t find the spark in his blue eyes unusual even though it hasn’t been there in years, and he completely misses the hope in his voice and the fact that Louis actually smiles. So when Louis is insistent that they find him H, Zayn just brushes it off without even thinking about it like everything else, because apart from anything Louis is probably high as a kite off of morphine and he has just woken up and he's fucking _alive_ goddamnit and that sort of just eclipses everything else, really.

He isn’t high the next time, though. This time he's been awake for two whole weeks and he is lucid and he is rational and _still_ he's asking after this mysterious H, but Zayn doesn't think about it, Zayn ignores it, because Louis is broken so Zayn has always given him the leeway he needs to survive and this is just that, really, an extension of helping Louis to survive.

After that, Louis stops mentioning H. Zayn forgets about him completely, which isn't hard since it’s a name that didn't really _stick_ , that had no weight or meaning. Zayn moves on and he wishes that Louis would too, except Louis doesn’t, not at all, he never _has_. Louis gets worse and he is so fucking _fucked up_ now that Zayn doesn’t even know where to start anymore. Because now on top of everything else, Louis is _sad_ ; Louis is so sad, and that's different from the usual self-loathing Zayn is used to seeing but it's still difficult.

Sometimes late at night Zayn thinks about throwing in the towel, moving out and moving somewhere where he can start afresh. He knows it would be infinitely easier, that it would lift the weight of off his shoulders and fade the ache in his heart, but that’s not the _point_ , is it? That’s not what friendship is about.

Zayn doesn’t let the thought linger long enough to take hold.

*

In February Louis decides that he's ready to go back to classes. And he's not, Zayn knows that, Zayn can see that, but this is the leeway Louis needs so Zayn gives him it. Zayn drives them in his temporary shitty car (and driving still feels off, even three long months after the accident, because he'll never really be able to let go of that fear that next time he might not be so lucky). They don't make it the whole way. They end up arguing again, and it feels to Zayn like he and Louis are _constantly_ arguing, constantly battling with each other, even when voices are calm and looks are fond. They argue about Louis' medication and then out of nowhere Louis says it again.

 _H_.

Zayn asks who he is and Louis tells him and that's that, that's it, because H was just some figment of Louis' morphine addled imagination and he's not here now and he's not real and that's just the way it is.

* * *

After that things start getting better. Louis is a different person without the medication, and god if Zayn had known that he would’ve stopped reminding him to take his pills _years_ ago. It’s slow, ever so slow, but little tiny fragments of Louis are piecing themselves back together, healing him up. And he’s not whole and Zayn thinks that maybe he never truly will be, but he’s getting better and Zayn finally feels like he can breathe again.

*

November is sort of a turning point for everything. November is where Louis meets Harry, at the football trials. He and Louis are out in the car park by Niall’s car, waiting for the Irishman to join them and take them all out for celebratory drinks – except when Niall arrives he’s not alone and Harry is there and Zayn sort of forgot about Harry and that’s bad because someone should have warned Louis. But then Zayn remembers that Louis isn’t like that anymore, Louis isn’t likely to self-implode the second he’s faced with a stranger, and so Zayn relaxes.

He nudges Louis sharply in the ribs when they arrive at the car so that he bolts upright on the bonnet. “Oh, I should probably introduce you, yeah? Lou, this is the fresher I was talking about, Styles. Styles this is Louis.”

And for a split second Louis goes stiff, just staring at Harry like he is an alien or a ghost or _something_. “Hi,” he mumbles eventually.

“Hey,” Harry says to Louis, and Louis blinks back at him, eyes still wide. Zayn hopes that this isn’t too much, that Louis isn’t about to break apart again.

“I’m Harry Styles. Or Harold. Or Hazza or Haz or H. Whatever, really. It’s great to finally meet you,” he beams, and offers his hand to Louis. Louis takes it.

 _H_ , Zayn thinks absently to himself, smiling into the sunlight. _What an unusual nickname_.

*

Harry and Louis just click, and Zayn would be jealous of their instant friendship if he didn’t see the way they look at each other. He wonders how long it will take them to figure it out for themselves. He reckons it won’t take long.

It does, though.

*

It’s a whole entire year later before Zayn even thinks about the boy from Louis’ dream. He doesn’t know what makes him think of it, really, except they’re lying outside on the grass in their back garden and it just feels like enough time has passed, really.

“Hey Lou?" Zayn asks softly, and Louis turns on the grass so that they’re looking right at each other, eye to eye.

"Yeah?" he answers, just as soft.

Zayn studies Louis’ face, at the faint laughter lines beginning to appear around his eyes after so many years of being neglected and at the slight curve of his smile, and marvels yet again how far the two of them have come. "You still think about that boy?” he asks eventually. “The one from your dream?"

Louis doesn’t say anything for a long moment. "Yes," he nods finally, his voice low. "Yes, I do."

Zayn nods, because that’s all he needed to know, and turns his attention up to the constellations above them. Zayn has always liked the stars. There is something so constant and concrete about them, so familiar and safe. He thinks the stars look like little strings of fairy lights, strung up across an inky canvass. Zayn wishes he had the right words to say that out-loud, and vows silently to _paint_ it instead.

Neither boy speaks for a long time. Zayn doesn’t mind and Louis doesn’t mind, because that’s how they work, that’s just how they are.

"You still miss him?" Zayn asks then. Because Louis _used_ to miss him, back in their second year of uni after the accident and before he started getting better. Zayn hadn’t liked to think about it back then, but it’s so obvious now.

"No,” Louis whispers.

Louis has no reason to lie, not to him, and so Zayn is relieved. “Good,” he breathes, and sighs a little as he settles down into the grass. "I'm really glad you're so happy, Lou. Sort of makes up for all the shit before, you know? Makes it easier to forget."

He pauses for a moment, and hums a few bars of a song that he forgot a long time ago under his breath.

"…what was his name again?"

Again, Louis is silent for a long, long time, his expression blank. “H," he says finally. "His name was H."

 _H,_ Zayn thinks. _Huh_.

"That's right," he nods. "I remember now. Funny sort of nickname. I'd never even heard of it at all until Harry.”

“What are the chances, huh?” Louis mumbles.

And Zayn thinks about that later that night when he’s tucked up in his bed, about H and about Harry and about what Louis had said, the same four words swirling round and round his mind. _What are the chances, what are the chances, what are the chances._

*

Zayn puts it down to coincidence in the end, the fact that Louis’ dream boy and Louis’ new best friend have the same nickname. Because _of course_ it is coincidence.

What else could it possibly be?

*

Zayn doesn't really start suspecting anything at all until their Coach announces that Harry is going to be captain for the upcoming game. He and Louis are working out on the crosstrainers in the club’s gym, side by side.

“So Harry is captain now, huh?” Zayn says thoughtfully.

Louis smiles to himself, his own private Harry-smile. Zayn wonders whether Louis knows how clearly his feelings are written all over his face. “Yeah. He is.”

"Didn’t you _say_ he was going to be captain?” he says "Back before the trials? I'm _sure_ you said that he should come along because one day he would be captain."

Louis just stares at him for a moment. "Yeah," he says eventually. "Yeah, I did say that."

"Weird,” Zayn laughs. “How did you know?"

"How did I... _Zayn_!” Louis splutters. “How did I _know_?"

"Yes Lou," he says slowly. "How did you know?"

Louis lets out a snort. "Well I _didn't_. Obviously."

"So you just lied to him?"

"He wouldn't...he wouldn't have come otherwise!" Louis says. "And I wanted him to come, Zayn. I _needed_ him to come."

“Alright,” Zayn shrugs, wiping down his machine and heading over to the treadmill. “Alright, whatever. Just a bit weird, that’s all.”

“Yeah,” Louis mumbles, trailing dumbly after him. “Weird.”

*

Next is their new apartment. Louis and Harry spend the whole day traipsing in and out of places that _just don’t feel right_. Harry is angry, Harry is flustered and Harry is disappointed, but when Zayn talks to Louis on the phone he is completely calm.

“Aren’t you worried?” Zayn asks him. “You’ve looked around all of the affordable places, Lou.”

“Not all,” Louis says firmly. “We’ll find our place, Zayn. I know we will.”

“How are you so sure when you don’t even know what you’re looking for?” he frowns.

“I’ll know when I see it,” Louis assures him. “We both will.”

Zayn doesn’t think about that or what that means until they arrive home later with the paperwork for their new flat.

“Louis just knew,” Harry gushes, giddy with excitement. “The second we walked through the door he just _knew_. Isn’t that amazing?”

“Amazing,” Zayn echoes, but inside his head the cogs are starting to whir.

*

It is little things like that, little things that start to build up over time. Once is fine and twice can just be written off as coincidence, but three times? Six times? Ten?

That’s a pattern.

* * *

The thing is, despite the fact that it had never been a name that stuck, had never been a name with much meaning, Zayn’s mind keeps coming back to H.

Sometimes at night when he’s in his bed, he wracks his brains and tries to remember every little things Louis ever said about the boy from his dream. Patterns start emerging all over the place, but Zayn doesn’t dwell on them, doesn’t give them much credence.

Zayn just feels sorry for Harry, really. Because he remembers Louis mentioning one time that the boy from his dreams had curly hair and Harry has curly hair too and the boy from his dreams had green eyes and Harry’s are as bright as emeralds. Zayn just has this sinking feeling deep in the pit of his stomach that Louis ending up with Harry wasn’t the big coincidence they’d been led to believe it was at all. Maybe Louis chose him especially. Maybe Harry reminds him of the boy from his dreams.

H is a name that gets thrown around quite a lot, lately. Zayn doesn’t think Louis even realises that he does it – that perhaps it is subconscious, deeply rooted into his mind. But it makes Zayn think about it even harder, and so one day he brings it up, when the two of them are sat watching television in Louis’ flat.

“You know Harry?” Zayn says.

Louis just laughs. “Yes,” he grins. “Yes, I do know Harry.”

"Did you know that sometimes you call him H?" Zayn asks.

"What?"

"Harry," he says. "You call Harry H sometimes."

"I do?"

Zayn shoots him a look. "Yes, Louis, you _do_. You call him H. H like that boy from your dream.” He pauses. “…you know that's sort of weird, right? To start giving a real person the same nickname as a person you met while you were in a fucking morphine coma. That's not really fair on Harry, Lou. They're not the same person and-"

"-they _are_ ," Louis mutters.

Zayn blinks at him. " _Sorry_?"

"Zayn, what if...what if they _are_?" he says slowly. "What if that boy I met in my dreams and our Harry are the same person?"

"They can't be," Zayn points out with a raised eyebrow. "Because you only met Harry when we were in our third year and you had the dream in second year, so..."

"I know," Louis says. "I know. But I _dreamt_ of him, Zayn. I dreamt of him before I met him."

"You know that's not possible, right?" Zayn says carefully, studying Louis with a worried expression. "You know you can't have dreamt about a person you hadn't even _seen_. That just isn't how it works, that isn't how it _happens_."

"I _know_ ," Louis blurts out, and his eyes are wide. "But it _did_ happen Zayn. I dreamt about Harry and our life together and I dreamt that we were all on the football team and I dreamt that Harry and I had our own place and I dreamt that we were together and then I _met_ him. Then I met him in the real world and he was exactly the same except we weren't together yet and we didn't live together yet and we weren't playing football yet but now we are. We _are_. I dreamt about it and then it happened in real life."

Zayn takes a slow step forward. “Louis,” he says gently. “Louis, come on. Let’s be serious.”

“I’m _being_ serious!” Louis cries.

“Are you on something?” Zayn asks, stepping closer, eyes roaming over Louis’ face searching for clues. “Are you taking the medication again? I thought you were _better_ , Lou! I thought you were okay!”

Louis steps away, stumbles backwards, and his lip trembles. “I _am_ okay. I _am_ better, and I’m _not_ on anything and _why don’t you believe me_ , Zayn?”

“Because you’re talking like a crazy person!” Zayn shouts. “Fucking hell, Louis, _listen_ to yourself! You’re saying that you met Harry in your dream almost an entire year before you met him in real life? And you, what, had some sort of premonition to how your life was going to turn out? That doesn’t happen, Lou, not in the real world. That shit is for fairy tales and story books.”

“You think I’m lying?”

Zayn sucks in a shaky breath. “I think you’re not telling the truth.”

“When have I ever lied to you, Zayn?” Louis demands, and suddenly he looks angry, hurt. “When have I _ever_ been anything other than completely honest?”

Zayn doesn’t think about all the times Louis told him that he was fine when he wasn’t, because that’s in the past and that was different. “I don’t think you’re doing it on purpose, Lou. I just…”

“…you just think I’ve cracked, don’t you?” Louis spits. “You think everything finally caught up with me and fucked me over.”

“You’ve been through an awful lot, Louis, no one would blame you for cracking a little-”

“-I’m _not_ cracking!” Louis says furiously. “This is not me _cracking_ , Zayn, this is me trying to tell you something. But you won’t listen-”

“-I _am_ listening!” Zayn argues back. “Fuck, Louis! I _am_ listening. What do you think I’ve been doing all these years if I haven’t been listening?”

Louis takes a deep breath, balls his hands up tightly into fists and then releases them, flexes them, lets them drop to his side. When he finally raises his head to look Zayn in the eye again, his blue eyes are desperate, pleading.

“Zayn, I need you to believe me,” he begs, but his voice is calm. “This isn’t a joke and I’m not losing it. The boy I got so attached to in my coma-dream is the same boy that will be walking through the front door any minute now, and I don’t know how it happened or why it happened and yeah, it’s fucked up and sometimes it scares me a little but I’m also thankful, Zayn, I really am. Because if I hadn’t had that dream, if I hadn’t seen how happy and normal I could be, I probably would’ve given up.”

Zayn just looks at him. “Louis…”

“No, it’s okay. It’s a fact, Zayn, and I’m passed that now but I really wasn’t in a good place. That dream kept me going, kept me thinking about a life where I had lots of real friends and someone who loved me and a beautiful apartment and a proper job. And that’s what I worked towards, you know? That’s why I came off the meds and that’s why I started taking care of myself, because I wanted that life for myself, even if it was completely fictional. But then I met Harry, and…well. It suddenly became non-fiction. Then I wasn’t just working towards a better life, I was actually living it. and it all started playing out the way I knew it would and that was such a relief, because I’d seen into my future and I had seen that I was going to be happy there and that’s all I ever wanted, Zayn. That’s _all_ I ever wanted.”

“I believe you,” Zayn says.

Louis’ eyes snap up. “What?”

“I believe you,” he shrugs. “I don’t understand it and I can’t explain it and it’s fucked up on so many levels but I believe you.”

Louis doesn’t say anything – he just propels himself forward into Zayn’s arms, until Zayn is laughing in his ear and holding him tight and everything is okay again and Louis _isn’t_ crazy.

“Think you can have a peek into my future?” Zayn mumbles into Louis’ shoulder.

Louis laughs, a low rumbling sound that vibrates through into Zayn’s chest. “I don’t think it works like that, sadly.”

“Reckon I’ll be as happy as you?”

Louis’ squeezes him tight. “I reckon you will, yeah.”

“Good,” Zayn smiles, squeezing him back. “Does Harry know?”

“Harry didn’t know about the dream in the first place,” Louis says carefully. “We never really talk about the accident much, or my life before. He wants to, sometimes, but we both agree it’s best not to dwell on the past.”

“He should know,” Zayn says. “If I were him, I’d want to know. It makes it even more special, doesn’t it? It’s not just fate and destiny that brought you together, it’s actually _magic_.”

“Magic,” Louis snorts.

Zayn punches him in the arm. “Until the rest of us start getting premonitions in our dreams, then _yeah_ , it’s magic.”

“You’re a wizard, Louis,” he says weakly, and Zayn just rolls his eyes.

*

When Harry walks through the front door some ten minutes later, Louis is restless with excitement. Because Zayn was right, wasn’t he? What he and Harry had was magic and it was fate and it was something so breathtakingly special that he couldn’t even fully comprehend it.

“Hey babe,” Harry laughs into his shoulder when Louis propels himself forward into his arms and clings on tightly. “You alright?”

“Yes,” Louis breathes. “But I have to tell you something.”

Harry looks at him funny, but he shrugs off his coat and hangs it up before taking a careful seat on the sofa. “Okay,” he says then. “Shoot.”

“Okay,” Louis says. He takes a deep breath and then lets it out, clearing his mind. “You know a while back Zayn and I were in a car crash?”

“…yes?” Harry says warily.

“Well, for those few weeks when I was in the coma, something weird happened. Something really strange, Harry. I had a dream, except it didn’t really feel like a dream. It was really vivid and intense and I dreamt of a world where I was happy and whole and off meds and in love and surrounded by friends and it was just perfect, really. Except then I woke up and I was still in my shitty life feeling shitty about myself and that _wasn’t_ perfect.”

“Okay,” Harry says slowly.

“But it was okay in the end because it made me work harder, you know? It drove me forward, made me admit to myself what sort of life I actually wanted. And I wanted it all someday, everything I’d seen in that silly coma dream. I wanted to be happy and I wanted to be off my meds and I wanted lots of friends and I wanted to fall in love. And then I met you and everything starting falling into place.”

Harry smiles at that, a big wide smile, and his eyes are so full of fondness that it makes Louis’ chest ache. “I met _you_ , Harry. And you were exactly the same, funny and gorgeous and sweet – you were just like you were in the dream, and-”

“-sorry,” Harry says. “In the _what_?”

“The dream,” Louis repeats. “You were in the dream, Harry. You were the one I fell in love with.”

“Louis, what are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about _us_!” he says. “I dreamt about you in my dream and obviously I woke up and just thought to myself that I’d somehow managed to create an angel inside of my morphine-filled mind. But then I met you in real life and it…well, things just started happening! In my dream world we all played football together, so when Niall showed me the advertisement I knew we all had to try out, which is why I spent so long convincing you to come along too. Because in the dream we were all there. And this place, Harry? I knew exactly what I was looking for when we were searching. That’s why I was so difficult, that’s why I kept saying no to places that were bigger and better then here. Because _this_ was the apartment we lived in in my dream.”

“Louis…”

“Even back when I met you, Harry, even then I knew we would end up together. So I was worried about that, I wasn’t worried about you taking so long to realise how you felt because I knew that one day you _would_ realise. So I waited. i waited for you, Harry.”

“Are you saying you knew from the very day we met that we would end up together?” Harry says, and his voice is strange and his back is stiff, but Louis barely notices.

“Yes,” he nods. “Yes, I knew.”

“The football? You knew we'd all make the team? You knew that from day one? Before you even saw the advert?”

And Louis frowns at that, because he had only really known the football part would come true well when Niall had bounded into his room that one morning. “Yes, I guess, but-”

“-and our flat? You knew we'd move in together? You knew which place we'd chose? You knew _everything_?”

“Yes,” Louis says. He swallows hard and he can feel his heart pounding in his chest. Harry isn’t pleased. Harry isn’t excited. Harry isn’t _happy_ and this isn’t how it was supposed to turn out. “I knew. I saw it in the dream and I knew, but I didn't think-”

“-no,” Harry says. “That's right, you _didn't_ _think_.”

“Are you...are you _mad_?”

“Yes! No. I…I _don't know_ , alright? I'm confused and I'm pissed off that you never told me and I can't help but feel like you've somehow managed to orchestrate the last two and a half years of my life into the way _you_ wanted it to be.”

“I haven't,” Louis says. “Harry, I _haven't_!”

“But it was you who _just knew_ this apartment was the right one, wasn’t it? Like you said, you turned down a handful of places that were better. You knew and so we moved in.”

“I didn’t force you,” he says. “You always had a choice.”

“I didn’t _need_ a choice, Lou! I only ever wanted what you wanted. I only ever wanted _you_. I trusted you entirely, but if I’d have known…”

He trails off and drags a hand roughly through his curls.

“I mean, I didn't _want_ to leave the uni team,” he goes on, his green eyes wide. “You _begged_ me to try out for the new team with you guys, Lou! You _begged_ me. That's _not_ choice when I can't say no to you!”

“You could've said it though,” Louis pointed out weakly. “If you wanted to. You could’ve said no at any point.”

“Yeah and _then_ what, Louis? Would we still be here? Would we still be us if you're dream hadn’t played out exactly the same in the real world? Would you still love me?”

“I...” Louis starts. “I mean, of _course_ I would.”

Harry just stares at him. “You hesitated.”

“Harry...”

“You...you don't know, do you? You don’t know what would’ve happened. You don’t know if you’d still feel the same.”

“Harry, listen, I-”

“-so, what. You fell in love with the dream me in your dream world and then everything just had to play out _exactly_ the same here, huh? You had to become my friend and you had to become my _everything_ because _that's_ the way it happened in your dream. I didn’t have a choice, Lou! I haven’t had a single choice these past years and that’s not fair! You can’t just _do_ that to a person!”

“Harry please,” Louis begs, reaching out for him, needing to feel him, needing to hold on to him before he faded away.

“No,” Harry hisses, yanking his hand out of Louis' reach. His green eyes are impossibly wide with hurt and that hurt _Louis_ , that made his chest ache. “I am not some fictional character Louis. I am not part of your dream anymore. I am _real_.”

“I know Harry. I know that.”

“It doesn't feel like it,” Harry says. “It feels like this whole time we've been living off the blueprints of someone else's plan for your own life.”

“That's not what this is,” Louis says desperately.

“Then what is it?”

“It's...I don't know. Destiny? Fate?”

“Fate?” Harry echoes. “Does fate tell you what happens next? Where we go from here?”

“No,” Louis mumbles, and he suddenly feels sick right down to the pit of his stomach.

“Then maybe you'll have to figure it out yourself for once,” Harry says softly. “I'll be at a hotel. Please don't call.”

He disappears out of the room and a moment later the front door slams shut behind him. Louis just stands there frozen in the middle of the living room for a long long time, silent and unmoving, until he can remember how to move his legs – and then everything around him comes whirring back to life at once as if nothing happened, as if nothing changed.

*

Harry and Louis have never fought before, nothing more than the sort of bickering that means nothing and lasts just a minute or two and is quickly forgotten about. This is different, though. Zayn knows the moment that Louis walks through his door, face blotchy and stained with tears.

“He left me,” he croaks. “Zayn, he fucking _left_ me.”

“Harry?” Zayn says in surprise.

Louis sits down heavily beside him on the sofa and buries his head in Zayn’s shoulder, clinging on to him and letting his tears soak into his jumper. “Who else?”

“Why? What happened?”

“I told him about the dream,” Louis mumbles, his voice muffled. “I told him about the dream and he just flipped out, Zayn. He said I’d taken away his choice, that I orchestrated the last two years to make sure things happened the way they happened in my dream.”

“But,” Zayn says slowly. “But you _did_ , didn’t you? Isn’t that what you did?”

“No,” he says defensively. He lifts his head up a little, his forehead creased deeply in thought. “I mean…yes. Maybe, I suppose, in a way. But I didn’t…I mean, I didn’t think it would that important!”

Zayn rubs slow circles into his back, soft and reassuring. “Of course it’s important, Lou, it’s his life. You understand that, don’t you? You can see why he might be mad?”

Louis nods slowly and wipes roughly at his cheeks to get rid of the tears still making tracks there. “Yes,” he sniffs then. “Yes, I understand. But I didn’t think he would be this upset about it. I never _wanted_ him to be upset. If I’d have known this is how he would’ve felt about the whole thing I never would’ve even introduced myself. I would’ve left him alone to make his own choices.”

“Don’t say that,” Zayn says with a frown. “You wouldn’t have chosen the path that didn’t lead to him and you know it. Besides, you want to know what I think?”

Louis looked up at him through wet eyelashes. “Always.”

“I think it doesn’t matter what you did, Lou. It doesn’t _matter_ whether Harry joined the football team or whether you moved into the exact same flat from your dream. I think you still would’ve ended up where you are now. Together.”

“Really?”

Zayn gives him a squeeze. “ _Really_ , Lou. I mean, come _on_. You’re perfect for each other! You _complete_ each other! That’s not…I mean, that’s not just some _chance_ _relationship_. That’s someone’s master plan, someone up there who linked the two of you together a long time before you knew the other even existed. You would’ve ended up together anyway, Lou, because you belong side by side. You just helped things along, that’s all.”

“That’s not how Harry sees it,” Louis says thickly.

“Harry’s _angry_ ,” Zayn argues firmly. “But he won’t stay angry, Louis. Not at you. Let him cool off tonight and sit him down tomorrow and talk it through. You’ll get through this, I promise you. You and Harry’s love is the strongest thing I’ve ever seen. It can withstand this, okay? Louis?”

“Okay,” Louis mumbles into his chest. Then, softly, “I miss him, Zayn.”

“I know you do,” Zayn sighs, and holds him tight.

* * *

Louis is nervous when he unlocks the door of their apartment the next morning, because Harry’s car is in its usual space which means he’s home and Louis really, really doesn’t want another fight. He doesn’t want to ever fight again, if they can help it. He never wants to see Harry’s green eyes cloudy with anger and hurt and he _never_ wants to be the reason why Harry walks out again.

The place is silent. Louis shuts the door behind him and takes a shaky breath as he makes his way slowly into the living room.

Harry is there. He looks awful, all droopy curls and dark smudges underneath his eyes. His whole face changes when Louis walks in the room, when their eyes meet, and christ he just looks so sad that it breaks Louis’ heart

“Hi,” Harry whispers.

“Hi,” Louis echoes dumbly.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says quickly, stepping forward. “Fuck, Lou, I’m so sorry. I overreacted and I-”

“-no _I’m_ sorry,” Louis cuts him off, rushing into his space, crowding him, because it’s only been a night but _fuck_ he missed his green eyed, curly haired boy. “What I did was wrong and I never meant to make you feel like I forced you into anything or took anything away from you because believe me that is the _last_ thing I ever want to do. I just…I just wanted us to be happy, Haz! I just wanted us to end up here, you know? Here, together, in our own place and _happy_.”

“And I _am_ happy, Lou,” Harry says softly. “Shit, I’m _so_ happy. There is nowhere else in the whole world I would rather be than here with you, and if the path we took was a little unconventional then _fuck it_ , you know? Because that was _our_ path, Louis, and it led us to here – so in my eyes it’s perfect.”

“I love you,” Louis says thickly. “Jesus Christ, I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Harry smiles, and Louis steps forward into his arms. Harry marvels yet again how small Louis is pressed up against him, how he fits so perfectly into the crevices of his body, how their torsos align. Harry has never loved a single thing in the world more than he loves Harry right there in that moment.

Harry runs his fingertips gently through Louis’ fringe, soft and feather-light. “We have a lot to talk about,” he murmurs into Louis’ ear then.

Louis looks up at him through his eyelashes. “Whenever you want, Harry.”

Harry nuzzles into his hair, pulls him closer and breathes him in. “There’s no rush,” he sighs. “We’ve got forever, right?”

“Right,” Louis agrees, and Harry can feel his smile pressed up against his chest. Harry smiles back, and they just stand there smiling at each other like the lovesick fools that they are, their Past, Present and Future finally in tune.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you as always to the anons that sent in the prompts x
> 
> any more oneshot prompts you'd like me to fill, send me a message here [here](http://hustleandsin.tumblr.com/) and I will try and write them :)  
> thanks for reading, every one of your kudos' and comments are appreciated more than you will ever know x


	10. One Shot (4 - Taste Your Lips & Feel Your Skin)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis loves Harry and Harry loves Louis and that's all they ever need to know, really.  
> or, alternatively,
> 
> Louis and Harry's first time.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well i can't write smut but this was requested a few times so i did my best  
> 

“Fuck, Lou, right there. Oh…oh my _god_. Like that. Yes, yes, yes like _that_. Harder! Suck it _harder_.”

Louis detached his mouth from Harry’s neck and looked up at him in amusement through his eyelashes.  “You know you sound like a porn star when you talk like that, right?”

“I don’t care what I sound like,” Harry panted. “My gorgeous boyfriend is biting my neck. Do you know how hot that is? It’s like you’re…fuck, it’s like you’re _claiming_ me.”

“I don’t have to claim you,” Louis said indignantly. “You’re already mine.”

“Well obviously,” he huffed. “Are you done, then?”

Louis shook his head slightly and surged forward again, pushing Harry into the mattress and pinning him down by his wrists so that he had full access to his neck. Not that he wouldn’t have it anyway – Harry would offer himself up to Louis on a silver platter in exchange for a single love-bite. He went crazy for them – said it was something to do with the fact that every time he caught sight of his reflection the purple marks reminded him of what the two of them had got up to the night before.

Louis lowered his lips to the same patch of milky skin and peppered it with light kisses, gentle barely-there brushes that had Harry whining and wriggling beneath him. Then, after a moment, he opened his mouth and attached it to his neck, sucking hard.

“Nggghhh,” Harry moaned incoherently. “Oh god. Oh _god_.”

Louis just grinned, lips curving upwards into skin, and carried on sucking for a few seconds longer until he was satisfied and Harry was rutting desperately against him, both of them half-hard and stirring. “Okay,” he announced happily when he was finished. “I’m done!”

Harry pulled himself upright against the headboard of the bed, chest still heaving up and down. “And? How is it?”

Louis inspected his handiwork closely, running his fingertips across the blooming bruise lightly because he knew the skin would be tender. “It’s good, Haz. Big. It’ll be dark, too, when it comes out. You’ll like it. Liam will absolutely hate it.”

“Excellent,” Harry grinned, and crooked his finger. “Come here.”

Louis scooted up the bed until they were side by side, beaming goofily. He leant forward and pressed his lips to Harry’s, kissing him slowly and languidly like they all the time in the world. Eventually the kiss petered off until they were just pecking gently at each other’s lips, and then Harry gave a contented sigh and relaxed back into his pillows, his hand still holding on tightly to Louis’.

Louis lay beside him in the near darkness, warm and comfortable and happy, and for a while neither of them spoke.

“You want me to give you a blowjob?” Louis asked suddenly, looking up at him with big wide blue eyes.

“No thanks, love, not tonight. In the morning, maybe? I’ll make breakfast and we can spend the whole day in bed. How does that sound?”

“Lovely,” Louis smiled. He nuzzled closer to Harry, resting his head on his chest and breathing in his warm, familiar scent. “…do you want to give _me_ a blowjob?”

“Louis,” Harry giggled sleepily. “You’re not supposed to volunteer yourself up.”

“Sorry,” Louis hummed. He was quiet for a moment, listening to Harry’s heartbeat through his skin. “Just a handjob, then?”

“Lou!”

“We can do each other at the same time,” Louis said quickly. “I’ll make it fast. I promise.”

“I’m knackered babe,” Harry sighed. “Can’t we just sleep and do this in the morning?”

“I thought you were turned on by the love bites?” he frowned. “You liked that, didn’t you? You were turned on?”

“I was,” he agreed. “I _always_ get turned on by you, Lou. By everything you do. You know that. Doesn’t mean I want you to get me off now, though. It’s bedtime.”

“Then let _me_ suck _you_ ,” Louis said. “Come on Harry, you won’t have to do a thing. You can just lie there. I’ll make you feel good, Haz, you know I will.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he grinned. He wasn’t used to this, used to Louis begging him to fool around. Usually it just _happened_.

“We should have sex,” Louis said suddenly. “Sex would feel even better. Let’s have sex, Haz. Let’s do it now.”

“Whoa,” Harry laughed, ducking out of the way of Louis’ grabby hands. “Slow down a second. Where’s this come from?”

“Where’s this come from?” Louis echoed dumbly.  “Are you _serious_? I feel like I’ve been waiting for this my whole life!”

“You haven’t know me your whole life, babe,” Harry said fondly.

Louis just frowned at him, eyebrows pulled together adorably. Harry wanted to lean over and kiss him again. Harry always wanted to kiss him, actually. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not joking around. I’m a hundred percent serious. Let’s have sex.”

“What, right now?”

“ _Yes_ , right now!”

“No,” Harry said. He wasn’t laughing anymore. Louis was serious. Louis actually wanted to have sex, Louis was actually _ready_ and that was _huge_.

Louis just blinked at him. “Pardon?”

“No, Lou! We’re not having sex right now.”

“Do you…do you not want to? Do you not want to have sex with me, Haz? Do you not fancy me enough?”

“Louis, love, I just almost had an orgasm because you sucked my bloody neck a little bit. Do you _really_ think I don’t fancy you?”

“Well,” he huffed. “Why don’t you want to do it, then?”

“I never said I didn’t want to do it,” Harry said, looping an arm around Louis waist and pulling himself in close, tucked right up against his warm body. “I just said I didn’t want to do it _right now_.”

“Then when? Tomorrow?”

“Not tomorrow. We shouldn’t just rush into this, Lou. We should find the right time.”

Louis lifted his head to look at him incredulously. “You know, you sound _suspiciously_ like a teenage girl right now,” he accused.

“I don’t have to be a teenage girl to want our first time to be special,” Harry said firmly.

“But you do _want_ to do it? With me?”

“Of course I do, Lou! Because I love you and you are my favourite person in the whole world and I cannot wait to show you that in every way possible.”

“Great,” Louis said. “Let’s do it tomorrow, then.”

“ _Louis_!” Harry laughed.

“Harry!” Louis whined back. “Why are you being so difficult? I want you! I want all of you and I want you now!”

“Lou, you have literally had all of me since the day we met. Why is this suddenly so important?”

“Because I’m bloody _horny_!” he blurted out, his cheeks flushing pink. “God. Because I’m horny, alright? You got me all worked up with your moaning and your squirming and I’m _ready_.”

“Okay,” Harry said. “Okay. But not tonight. Not just yet.”

“Please?” he said, eyes all big and wide and pleading. And god, he only ever does that because he knows that Harry can’t resist it. “Please, Harry? I never ask you for anything! Pleeeease?”

“No!” he said, patience wearing a little thin. “And that’s my final answer, babe. I’m not changing my mind.”

Louis rolled over, out of Harry’s arms and onto the other side of the bed. He just lay there, frowning hard, the corners of his lips pulled down firmly. For a moment, Harry was completely floored – it had been ages since he’d seen Louis like this, distressed to the point of begging and beyond annoyed with him. It against his nature to deny him what he wanted – what they _both_ wanted – but he knew he had to do it anyway.

“Hey,” Harry said softly, reaching for him. “Don’t go all frowny on me.”

“You _make_ me frowny,” Louis pouted. “It’s been four years, why are you so set on finding the right time? I’m sick of waiting, Haz. I want you _now_.”

“I know you do,” he said. “And you know full well I want you too. But trust me, it will be worth it to wait just a little longer. Just until the timing is perfect.”

“And when will that be?”

“I don’t know,” Harry shrugged, tracing his fingertips up and down the impossibly soft skin across Louis’ ribcage. He was still tanned from their trip to Vietnam at Christmas, even though Harry’s own tan had vanished the moment they’d walked through airport security at Heathrow. Just like always, Harry literally paled in comparison.

“Then how on earth are we supposed to know when we’re ready?” Louis wailed, pushing Harry’s hand away and wriggling backwards again until they were no longer touching. “How are we supposed to _know_?”

“We just _will_ ,” Harry said firmly. His face softened, hands reaching across for him under the covers again. “Lou, do you trust me or not?”

“Of _course_ I trust you,” he muttered. “I’m just mega horny right now and my boyfriend of four whole bloody years point blank refuses to have sex with me. Even when I beg. Do you want me to beg? To get down on my hands and knees? Because I will. For you, Harry, I will.”

“You are such an arse,” Harry laughed, grabbing hold of his shoulders and pulling him closer until they were face to face, nose to nose. “But I still love you. Do you still love me?”

Louis didn’t say anything for a long moment, bottom lip still stuck out defiantly. “I suppose.”

“You only _suppose_?”

 “Fine,” he sighed dramatically. “I guess I still love you. Even if you don’t put out.”

Harry just rolled his eyes and pulled him even nearer, closing every space between them until they were flush against one another, bodies pressed together. “For the last time, I'm not a teenage girl, Lou. I’m nearly twenty four.”

“Yeah well,” he said, burying his face in Harry’s chest, his soft hair tickling Harry’s neck. “All I can say is that The Right Time better hurry the hell up. I won’t wait forever.”

“Yes you will,” Harry murmured, and wrapped him up tight in his arms to shut him up.

* * *

Louis didn’t bring it up again after that night, and when they woke up in the morning still curled up in each other’s arms, he just smiled sleepily up at him and offered to make them some scrambled eggs for breakfast. Harry watched him from the bed as he walked away, unashamedly eyeing up the sway of his hips and the curve of his arse. God, he was perfect. Harry thought that would’ve faded away by now, the awe and the wonder, but even four years later Louis still managed to take his breath his away.

Four whole years. Christ, had it really been that long? Four years of sweet kisses and taking it slow and exploring each other’s bodies inch by inch. And that had always been enough for Harry, because Harry cared more about Louis’ wellbeing than he did about the two of them finally going all the way, and he wasn’t going to risk pushing him too far. That had been his plan at the beginning of their relationship anyway, back when Louis still wasn’t whole. But he _was_ whole now, as whole as he was ever going to be, and they'd kept on taking it slow because that was what they were used to and neither of them was in any rush to move any faster. They were happy with what they had, wrapped up in their love for each other and their life together and they didn't _need_ anything else, didn't need to _do_ anything else to show each other that they cared.

It wasn't about needing anymore, though. It was about wanting.

Louis wanted Harry and Harry wanted Louis too, so so much, and so he supposed it only made sense to do it, really.

* * *

Harry snuck over to Zayn's house uninvited on Monday morning, when Louis was out doing the grocery shop.

“Haz!” he beamed when he opened the door, pulling him into a hug and squeezing him tight. “It’s been ages!”

“It’s been three days,” Harry laughed. “Don’t tell me you missed me already.”

“I always miss you babe,” he grinned, leading the way through to the kitchen. “Where’s Louis?”

“He’s doing the weekly shop.”

“Oh bless him. You’re like a literal married couple, you two. What will it be next? A puppy? A baby? A pair of twins?”

“Right,” Harry snorted.

Zayn just grinned again. “Drink?”

“Please.”

He hoisted himself up on the kitchen counter and watched as Zayn puttered around the room filling two glasses with water from the tap and then handed one over to him. He pulled up one of the chairs from the table and sat himself down so that he was facing Harry. “So, what can I do for you? Or could you just not wait for the weekend to see me again?”

“Something like that,” Harry said, fiddling nervously with the hem of his jumper – because how on _earth_ was he supposed to broach such a topic? Maybe he should have gone to Liam. He definitely should have gone to Liam. He should’ve gone to anyone, really, except for Louis’ best bloody _friend_. “I…er. I came over for some advice, actually.”

Zayn raised an eyebrow. “Advice? From _me_? Couldn’t you ask Louis?”

“Not really,” he said. “Because it’s sort of _about_ Louis? In a way?”

Zayn’s eyes went wide. “Shit, Haz. You’re not…I mean, things are okay, right? You’re not breaking up with him?”

“No!” he said hastily. “God, no. Never. I just…you know how we’ve been taking everything slowly? The whole physical part of our relationship?”

“…yes?” Zayn said slowly. “I mean, I remember you _were_. Years ago.”

“We still are,” Harry blushed.

“So, what. You haven’t done _anything_? Nothing at all?”

“Well obliviously we’ve done _stuff_ ,” Harry muttered, the blush spreading all the way down his neck and burning hotly. “We just haven’t done it all. But…uh. But I think we’d sort of like to now.”

“Oh!” Zayn said, finally cottoning on. “Okay, I think I’ve got it. You and Lou have waited until the right time to have sex. And _now_ is that time.”

Harry just nodded dumbly. And god oh god this was the worst idea in the world and he was never going to live this down and even the tips of his bloody _ears_ were red. Zayn leant over to pat his knee sympathetically.

“Don’t be embarrassed, mate. It’s just sex.”

“I’m _not_ embarrassed!” Harry protested. “I’m just not used to talking about it. Louis and I are quite private.”

“Yeah, we noticed,” Zayn grinned. “So what advice did you want? What do you want to know?”

“Well, everything really,” he sighed. “Like, what stuff I need to buy and what I need to do and how I can make sure that he doesn’t get hurt. I want it to be good, Zayn. I want it to be perfect, but I have absolutely no idea and I knew that you would. And I’m sorry because this is super awkward and you’re probably really uncomfortable because Louis is your best friend and you’ve known him since he was little but I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Haz, I’m glad to help,” Zayn assured him. “Really. Although now you mention it the whole knowing Louis since he was a kid thing is a little gross.”

“Sorry,” Harry said glumly.

“I’m joking, Haz,” he chuckled. “Alright, let’s start right at the beginning. You’re going to need to go to the shops and buy a few things. You’ll need condoms, for a start.”

“For what?” he frowned. “Louis is a _boy_.”

Zayn just gave him a funny look. “Okay, Haz, let me put it this way without going into the specifics. You don’t need condoms, obviously, because he’s clean and you’re clean and there’s no chance of him getting pregnant. But it makes post-coital activities a whole lot more enjoyable. A whole lot cleaner. You catch my drift?”

“Condoms it is, then,” Harry said hastily. “What else?”

“You’ll need some lubricant. Now, you can pretty much use anything on the shelf, whatever tickles your fancy. But I personally would steer clear of anything fruit flavoured or anything that looks like it might sting. The latter is from personal experience. Too much information? Probably. Um… a thicker one is useful as well, but not essential. They sell them in little multi-pack packets, so that might be a good choice until you can get used to them and then pick your favourite from there.”

“And the actual sex itself?” he asked uncomfortably.

“I assume you know the logistics?”

Harry nodded.

“Right. Well the only advice I can really give you is to take it slow. You’re going to want to hurry things up and get on with it but trust me that’s not how you want it to happen. Take your time and get him ready and just _enjoy_ it, really. Don’t rush it. Really soak up the feelings and make sure you don’t just concentrate on making yourself feel good because it’s about Louis too.”

“It’s all about Louis,” Harry said very seriously.

Zayn just reached over to pat his knee again. “I think you’ll be fine, Haz. I know you’ll look after him and make it the best night of his life because that’s what you’re like.”

“That’s what he deserves,” Harry frowned.

“I know,” Zayn smiled. “That’s why I still find myself thanking god every day that he found you, even all this time later. Because I have no idea where we would be if he’d never met you but I know he could never be this happy with anyone else.”

And suddenly Harry wasn’t so tummy-turningly nervous about not pleasing him anymore.

* * *

Louis called Liam up on Tuesday night and invited him out for a coffee the next morning when he knew Harry would be out with his mum for lunch. Liam, endearingly enthusiastic as always, had jumped at the chance for a little bit of Liam and Louis time, and agreed to meet him at the coffee house halfway between their two apartments at eleven o’clock.

Liam was already there when Louis arrived, as prompt as always. He smiled broadly when he spotted Louis dodging his way through the tables towards him. “Louis!” he said brightly, jumping up to pull out a chair for him. “How are you doing, man?”

“Harry and I are going to have sex,” Louis said.

Liam just blinked at him, frozen half-way through sitting down and still hovering above his seat. “I’m sorry, _what_?”

“Sex,” Louis repeated. “Haz and I are going to have it.”

“You haven’t already?” Liam frowned, sitting down, and Louis just shook his head. “Wow, Lou. Sorry, I just…I guess I figured you would’ve by now. How long has it been since you got together? Three years? Three and a half?”

“Four next month,” he said. “Shocking, huh?”

“Not shocking, exactly,” Liam said carefully. “Just a little surprising. You’ve been joined at the hip since the day you met, I just figured that would’ve been the natural course for you to take.”

“Harry didn’t want to rush things,” Louis shrugged. “He didn’t want to risk triggering something that might set me back in my progress.”

“But you’re better,” he frowned. “You’re good, aren’t you? You’ve been good for ages.”

“I am,” he agreed. “And I think Harry finally accepts that. So now we’re ready.”

“Well then,” Liam beamed. “That’s great, Lou. That’s really great. I’m really happy for you.”

“Thanks,” Louis mumbled. He traced the faded words across the table top that someone had scratched out a long time ago. He’d like to do that with Harry one day, he thought absently. Carve their names and their story somewhere where it couldn’t be forgotten, somewhere where strangers could read about a love that burned impossible bright.

“…so is there a _reason_ you don’t look too ecstatic about the idea of finally having sex with the love of your life?” Liam asked slowly.

Louis raised his head reluctantly. “Maybe.”

“Why?!”

“ _Because_ he’s the love of my life!” Louis blurted out, and then clamped his mouth shut. He took a moment to compose himself. “Because he’s the love of my life, Liam,” he said again, this time more calmly. “Because he is the love of my life and I love him more than anything in the world and we are so so perfect right where we are. And I _want_ to have sex with him, I really do. But what if it mucks things up? What if something changes between us? What if things aren’t as good as before?”

“Louis,” Liam said. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Louis frowned. “It could happen. You _know_ it could happen. It happens all the time to other couples.”

“Yeah, but you and Harry _aren’t_ other couples! You’re _you_. He is the love of your life and you are the love of his and you making the decision to consummate that love in every single way you can is not going to change a thing. I mean, it’s just _sex_ , Louis. And it’s good and everything, it’s pretty goddamn amazing, but believe me when I say it is not good enough to tear the two of you apart.”

Louis chewed the inside of his lip nervously, his fingers absentmindedly shredding the napkin in front of him into little white pieces. “Are you sure?” he said finally. “Are you sure it won’t ruin everything?”

“I promise, Louis,” Liam said firmly.

He thought this through for a moment, taking a careful sip of the tea Liam had brought for him. If there was anyone in the world he trusted the most when it came to matters of the heart, it was Liam. Liam who was so open about his feelings and so painfully in touch with his emotions. The moment he started worrying about this, he knew he could come and talk it through with Liam and be reassured. “So things between Zayn and you didn’t get weird after you two did it?”

Liam shook his head. “Not at all. I mean, they were a little different because it was a definite step in our relationship and up until that point everything was still a bit up in the air, but it definitely didn’t get weird.”

“How long had you been seeing each other at that point?”

Liam’s eyebrows furrowed together in thought. “About five months, maybe?” he said eventually. “Give or take, on and off. Nowhere near as long as you and Harry, obviously.”

“You think that will make a difference? Because we waited so long? Do you think we waited _too_ long?”

“You can’t wait too long for love, Lou,” Liam said softly. “And no, I don’t think it will make a difference. If anything, it will only make it more special. You want this, Louis. You want this and you want Harry and you’re sure of that now. You can stand there in front of him and promise him that you’ll never want anyone else, and I think that will make the whole experience a thousand times more unforgettable.”

Louis just nodded. He ripped open a packet of sugar and stirred it into his mug, despite the fact that it was already sweet enough. He needed something to do with his hands, something to distract him. “Liam?” he said then, his voice small.

“Louis?”

“What…what if I’m no good? What if I can’t do it right? What if it’s crap and I let him down? What if I disappoint him and he doesn’t ever want to try again?”

“Louis,” Liam snorted. “What part of you being the love of his life are you not understanding? Even if you just sit there and do nothing you are going to blow his mind. He loves you, Louis. You already gave him your heart, mate. He doesn’t need anything else.”

Louis felt a little better about it, after that.

* * *

Harry decided that Friday would be the day. He would cook Louis a meal and they’d have a quiet evening in and then when the moment felt right Harry would offer himself up to Louis and hope that Louis still wanted to take him.

It was all he could think about for the rest of the week, and it took all he had to keep it a secret and not blurt it out. He made it, though, and suddenly it was Friday and he spent the entire day fighting away a strange mixture of excitement and nerves.

He headed straight for the supermarket after work. He spent a good half hour in the meat section, picking out the perfect joint. He settled on lamb, because Louis loved lamb and they only ever ate it on special occasions and Harry definitely considered this to be one. He wandered over to the fruit and veg aisle and hang picked a selection of fresh garden vegetables, as well as a bag of the shop’s finest potatoes ready for mashing. He picked out two mildly expensive bottles of red wine to accompany the meal, and then he headed for the healthcare aisle to get the rest of the night sorted out too.

He chose a multi-pack of lube, just like Zayn had suggested, and buried it underneath the rest of his shopping in his basket out of sight. Then, finally, he turned to the condoms. He just stood there for a moment, frowning. There were so many to choose from - what was he supposed to go with? Ribbed? Ultra-fine? Ultra-safe? Extra lubricated? Christ, the longer he stood there, the more he could feel the romanticism seeping right out of him.

Eventually, he just reached for a packet of the ultra-safe ones, because surely they couldn’t go wrong with those. He was about to toss them in his basket alongside the lube when suddenly someone grabbed hold of his arms.

“What the fuckare _you_ doing here _?_ ” they said, and Harry jumped a mile. He spun around and found himself face to face with Niall.

“You little shit!” he hissed, hand over his chest to still the pounding of his heart. “You scared the life out of me!”

“Serves you right for skulking around this dark little corner of the shop,” Niall smirked. “What are you even doing here, anyway? Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“I was,” Harry said. “Got off early and came to pick a few things up.”

“Yeah, I can see,” Niall said. He eyed Harry’s basket curiously, taking in the wine and the lamb joint, and then his eyes drifted over to the little box in his hand. “Wait a second,” he said, reaching for them. “Are those _condoms_?”

“No,” Harry lied, yanking his hand back out of the way and hiding it behind his back.

"They _are_!” he crowed. “Why the flying fuck are _you_ buying condoms? Oh Jesus Christ you're not cheating on Louis, are you? You haven't got some pretty little thing on the side? Because I would literally have to kill you mate. No hard feelings."

"Of course I'm not cheating on him!" Harry snapped. "For fucks sake, Niall."

"Then why in hell are you buying _condoms_? It's not like you and Louis are doing it."

Harry just looked at him.

"Oh _shit_ ," he scoffed, his blue eyes creased with laughter. "Oh my god! You are! You totally are! You and Louis are _doing it_!"

Harry looked nervously over his shoulder, scanning the aisle for someone, anyone that he might know. God he loved Niall to pieces, usually, but not right now. Definitely not right now. "Niall, would you mind kindly shutting the fuck up?"

"Oh god, this is gold! How come you didn't say anything? How long have you been keeping this a secret for? How long have you been doing the deed?"

"We haven't," Harry say gruffly. "Not yet."

"But soon?"

Harry hesitated, and then threw his arms up in the air in defeat. Fuck it. "Tonight, actually. If you must know."

Niall just grinned. "Oh man. This is amazing. How long have you waited? You've literally fancied the pants off each other for four fucking years and you're only just getting round to actually having sex. I don't know whether you deserve a medal or a kick in the gonads."

"Don't be a prick," he said, flushing pink. "You know we were taking it slow."

"Snail’s pace," Niall said. "Do the others know? You should totally come over to the house this weekend to celebrate. I'll get champagne in and everything."

"Busy," Harry said, tossing the box of condoms into his basket.

"What, having lots of sex?" Niall snickered.

Harry just glared at him and shoved him hard into the shelving, eliciting a rather satisfying yelp.

"And for the record," he said curtly, while Niall stood there scowling and dusting himself off. " _This_ is why I didn't tell you anything, you arsehole."

"Arsehole," Niall echoed with a raised eyebrow. "Geddit?"

Harry just rolled his eyes and walked away, leaving the Irish boy cackling loudly all on his own in the middle of the aisle.

*

_I was only messing with ya earlier_ , Niall texted him a little while later, just as he was sliding the perfectly-seasoned joint into the oven. _Good luck and I hope it all goes well xx_

Harry just smiled and rolled his eyes and moved on to cutting up the carrots.

*

By the time Louis walked through the front door of their apartment, weary from work and glad to be home, the whole place smelt like heaven. The meat was nearly done, the mashed potatoes smooth and creamy on the hob, the vegetables all ready to go. Harry had set them two places on living room table, with proper napkins and their best cutlery and the expensive crystal wine glasses Harry’s mum had bought them for Christmas last year. There were two scarlet tapered candles burning brightly in the centre of the table, sending flickering lights around the dimly lit room, and two cushions laid out on the floor for them to sit on.

“Harry?” Louis said carefully as he let his bag drop to the floor. “What’s going on?”

Harry appeared in the doorway, apron tied around his waist and cheeks flushed pink from the cooking. “I made dinner!”

“Friday night is takeout night, love,” Louis said. “You didn’t have to cook. Tonight is your night off.”

“I wanted to,” Harry beamed. “Here, why don’t you get changed out of that suit and I’ll pour us some wine? It’s nearly ready.”

“Okay,” Louis said dumbly, because he wasn’t about to turn such an offer down. Harry smiled at him and Louis smiled right back and then headed down the corridor to their bedroom to put on something a little more comfortable.

When he reappeared a few minutes later in sweatpants and one of Harry’s old jumpers, Harry was placing two plates laden with food onto the table. Louis sat down on one of the cushions and Harry took his place on the other, still smiling at him like he was the best thing he’d ever seen.

“Did you have a good day, babe?” he asked, sipping his wine.

Louis lifted his own glass to his lips and took a long gulp, letting the drink wash down his throat. “It was okay,” he shrugged then. “Nothing special. It’s looking up now, though.”

“Try the lamb,” Harry said. “I slow cooked it.”

Louis took a mouthful and chewed it carefully, making sure he got the full taste. Harry studied him closely, trying to gauge his reaction like he so often did when he made Louis try something new. It was wonderful – not that that came as a surprise, considering everything the younger boy cooked was impeccable. “It’s delicious, Haz. Really lovely.”

Harry just beamed at him.

* * *

By the time the two of them finished their meal and polished off an entire tub of Ben and Jerry’s for pudding, they had finished their first bottle of wine. Harry took the dishes out into the kitchen to deal with later and brought back a second. They curled up on the sofa with that one, side by side, and drank straight from the bottle, giggling into each other’s shoulders like they were teenagers all over again and giddy with falling in love for the first time.

They took it in turns to take a gulp of the wine, telling stories about work and about Niall and Zayn and Liam and about their week and about the weather, about _anything_ , really, just because they could.

“Did you know that your nose goes all wrinkly when you smile?” Harry said suddenly.

“Does it?”

“Hmm,” he hummed. “It’s adorable. It’s really cute.”

“I am not cute,” Louis snorted, taking a long drag on the bottle and handing it over to Harry.

“You’re _so_ cute,” Harry said, ruffling his hair with his other hand. “You’re just the cutest.”

“If anyone’s the cutest it’s _you_ , Haz,” Louis giggled. “It’s your curls that do it.”

“You’re the cutest,” Harry said again, throwing his head back as he laughed, low and free and so so happy. “It’s not even a contest. My curls are _nothing_ compared to you.”

“We’ll have to agree to disagree,” he said with a smile, leaning up to press a soft kiss to the tip of Harry’s nose.

Harry stopped laughing. “Kiss me again,” he said quietly, and Louis raised an eyebrow, but did as he was told, pressing a second kiss to his skin – this time on his cheek.

“Another,” he murmured, and Louis leant over to kiss his other cheek, featherlight and tender and gentle.

 “One more,” Harry said thickly after a beat, and after looking Harry straight in the eye he finally leant forward and pressed his lips to Harry’s.

Louis pulled away, smiling, but Harry snaked an arm around his neck and stopped him before he could get too far. This time is was Harry who leaned in, with more purpose and more determination, and covered Louis’s mouth with his own. The kiss was slow, slick mouths moving against each other with no sense of urgency, because they had all the time in the world. But then arousal started stirring deep in the pit of Louis’ stomach, hot and needy, and he went to climb up onto Harry’s lap. Completely forgetting the wine bottle wedged between his boyfriend’s legs.

Wine went all over him, narrowly missing Harry’s clothes and the sofa but leaving a huge purple mark all the way across his chest, wet and cold and spreading.

“Shit!” Louis yelped, jumping to his feet. “Shit, shit, shit! I’ve got it all over your jumper!”

“It’s fine,” Harry smiled. “Just take it off.”

Louis hesitated for a moment, but then he lifted his arms and slowly peeled the sodden jumper right off, before bunching it up into a ball and tossing it out into the kitchen table. “I’m sorry. That’s probably going to stain.”

“Just like you,” he chuckled. He stood up and crossed the floor to where Louis was standing, and pointed to the pink stain that the wine had left across Louis’ chest. “You’re all pink.”

“And sticky,” Louis whined. “I’m all _sticky_ , Haz!”

Harry just shook his head in amusement. “Go have a shower then, babe.”

“Will you come with me?”

“Do you want me to?”

Louis just shot him a look. “What kind of a question is that?”

“Okay,” he grinned. “You go get the water running and I’ll be right in.”

* * *

It had been a while since the two of them had showered together. The novelty of the experience had sort of worn of after the first couple of shower-blowjobs, and lately when they did it is was because they were late and it was quicker or they were just feeling extra touchy-feely.

Today, it felt different. They started out their usual way, with Harry washing Louis’ hair with his favourite strawberry flavoured shampoo, and then Harry bending down so Louis could do the same for him because he didn’t want to feel left out. Then they stood underneath the jet of water alternately to wash the suds out of their hair, until the water ran clear and they were both clean and fresh and no longer sticky or smelling of red wine.

Normally, that’s where they would’ve gotten out. Not today, though. Today they stayed underneath the spray and just looked at each other, until Louis finally stepped up on his tiptoes to give Harry a kiss, and then suddenly they were licking into each other’s mouths and Harry was pressing Louis up against the shower tiles and pinning him in place and Louis was grinding up against him, hard and flushed and tipsy and breathless and beautiful.

“Louis,” Harry gasped when Louis dropped down to his knees in front of him. “Louis.”

“Let me,” Louis pleaded. “Come on Haz. You’re not tired now. It’s not bedtime. Just…just please let me do this. I want to make you feel good.”

“Bedroom,” Harry said, his voice a little strangled. “Let’s just go to the bedroom, yeah?”

Louis gave him an odd look, but he took Harry’s hand and pulled himself up, reaching out of the shower to grab them both a towel. Harry wrapped his own around himself and then took Louis’ from his hand and wrapped it around him too, until he was warm and snug, water still clinging to his eyelashes, cheeks still flushed. God, Harry loved him. Harry loved him so much it left him reeling.

“Come on,” he said throatily, offering Louis his hand. “Let’s go.”

Louis’s let out a gasp when Harry nudged open the bedroom door and pulled them inside. He squeezed Harry’s hand tight and looked up at him with wide eyes. The whole room was alight with the flames of a hundred candles, arranged across the bedside tables and the chest of drawers and the windowsill and anywhere, really, that Harry could find the space. The rest of the room was dark, but the bed, _their_ bed, was glowing. “Harry? What’s going on?”

“How about now?” he said softly. “Does this feel like the right time?”

“Oh…oh my _god_ ,” Louis stammered. “You’re serious? This is…this is for me?”

“It’s all for you,” Harry said sincerely, and then he stepped forward into Louis’ space, crowding him, and picked him up in one swift movement until he was lying horizontal in his arms, bridal style.

“Oh my _god_!” Louis said again, giggling into Harry’s shoulder as he walked the two of them across the floor to the foot of the bed and then slowly lowered Louis down on top of the duvet. They lay like that, Harry hovering above him, propped up on his elbows and looking down at him.

Louis liked it when Harry was like this, dominant and possessive and in control. Louis loved the way that Harry was just that much bigger, big enough to cover Louis’ whole body with his own. Louis swallowed, hard, and moved his eyes upwards to the sharp cut of Harry’s jaw, to his perfect pink lips, and then finally to his dark, hooded eyes. Harry stared back down at him like he wanted to devour him right there and then, and oh _god_ Louis wanted him so badly. He felt a delicious shiver of anticipation run down his spine, and suddenly he couldn’t wait a moment longer.

“Kiss me,” he said thickly.

Harry did as he was told, surging down to cover Louis’ mouth with his own, pressing his body against Louis’, their legs tangled together, their finger entwined in the sheets.

Harry remembered what Zayn had said, despite all his emotions and his feelings overwhelming him. He remembered to take it slow and not to rush it and so he lay beside Louis and kissed him over and over again until that was all Louis could think, all Louis could feel. Then, when Louis was finally ready, he repositioned himself so he was pinning him down with his whole body, hips rolling steadily against one another. Harry threaded his fingers through Louis’ soft hair, kissed him hard and long and deep, a little sloppy with urgency but more intense than ever before.

"If you want me to stop at any point, you just say the word," Harry said suddenly, breaking away and fixing his eyes on Louis’ blue ones. "You just tell me and I'll stop right away and-"

"I won't want you to stop,” Louis breathed, and rolled his hips up again agonisingly slow to prove it.

Harry stilled his movements, hovering just out of reach above him. Louis whined at the sudden distance, but Harry just gave him a very serious look. "Louis."

"Okay!" he said hastily, arching his back until they were touching again and digging his nails into Harry's shoulder to pull him back down. "Fuck. Okay."

"Okay," Harry echoed. “Are you ready?”

“I’m ready,” Louis breathed. His blue eyes were blown wide with lust and Harry thought he’d never looked so beautiful, laid out just for him, vulnerable and trusting and so full of unmasked reverence. “I love you, Harry.”

“I love you too,” Harry said softy, and ducked his head to press one last kiss to his mouth. Then he braced himself on his elbows and began easing in ever so slowly, little by little. He bit back his moan and buried his face in his arm, trying to ignore the overwhelming sensation and concentrate on Louis instead. This was about Louis. It _had_ to be about Louis.

"Oh my _god_ ," Louis said weakly from beneath him.

"Lou?" Harry said, shifting to get a better look at the smaller boy's expression. "Are you okay? Are you alright?"

Louis let out a low whine, little hands scrambling desperately to hold on to Harry's shoulders, fingers digging hard into the pale skin. "I'm fine," he panted then. "I'm fine. It just feels so..."

"Good?" Harry offered. Because it felt good to him. It felt better than anything else he'd ever felt in the world.

"Yeah," he nodded furiously. "Yeah. Can you...I mean, I think it's alright to move a little? If you want?"

Harry's eyebrows furrowed together. He eased out a little, leaning back slightly and arching away from him, and then he moved smoothly forward again, this time not quite managing to stifle his whimper. Beneath him Louis let out another whine, dragged out and guttural, and his eyes rolled backwards into his head.

"Like that?" Harry panted, starting to withdraw again, his heart pounding and his skin on fire and every inch of his body alight with desire.

"Like that," Louis agreed faintly, looping his arms around Harry's neck and clinging on tight like he never, ever wanted to let him go.

* * *

Afterwards, the two of them lay curled up underneath the sheets, still tangled together, still a little breathless, still a little dazed. Louis laid his head on Harry’s chest and Harry carded his fingers through his soft hair and listened to his heartbeat, listened as it started to return to normal.

“Worth the wait?” Harry asked finally, breaking the calm silence.

Louis just nodded, burying his head into Harry’s chest and curling himself up even smaller against Harry’s long frame. They lay there for a moment, quiet and still and sated, until Harry felt Louis shaking almost imperceptibly in his arms and a faint dampness spreading on his skin. And Louis was crying. They had just had sex for the first time after four years and Louis was _crying_. And Harry had been careful and gentle and slow and loving and this was _exactly_ what he didn’t want, this was exactly what he’d been afraid of. Because Louis had cried a lot at the start of their relationship, when he thought he was alone or when his guard was down or when he was sleeping, because he was still hurting. But Louis was better now, and he was _still_ crying – which meant that this time round Harry was the only one to blame.

“Hey,” Harry pleaded softly. “Hey, it’s okay baby. It’s alright. Please don’t cry, Lou, I’m sorry. Please don’t be sad.”

“I’m not sad,” Louis choked out. “I’m _happy_ , Harry. I…I never thought anyone would ever love me as much as you do. I never thought anyone would every make me truly happy but you _have_ and you _do_ and I just love you _so much_ , Haz.”

“I love you too,” Harry said, relief flooding through him. “I love you so much, Louis.”

“I love you more,” Louis whispered.

Harry ran his thumb gently across Louis’ jawline, green eyes roaming every inch of his face. “Impossible, babe. Christ, you are so beautiful.”

A pink blush crept across his cheeks. “No m’not.”

“You _are_ ,” Harry said. “You are the most beautiful thing. This is my favourite thing in the world, lying here with you. You are beautiful and you are perfect and I could do this forever.”

“It wouldn’t always be like this,” Louis mumbled. “You’d get bored eventually. You _will_ get bored eventually.”

It made Harry’s heart ache to hear those words coming out of his mouth. It took him back to years ago, back when Louis was still so unsure of himself and couldn’t get his head around the fact that someone might actually care about him and love him and have faith in him. It had been a long time since he was so insecure, but Harry could see the doubt shining through now in his blue eyes. There was resignation in his voice, like he had accepted the fact that his happiness could never be long-lived, but there was also hope too. Hope that this time it would be different, hope that this time he wouldn’t get hurt, hope that this time his happiness didn’t have an expiry date. Louis had hope in _Harry_ , and Harry was never, ever going to let him down.

“I will never get bored of you Louis,” he said firmly. “You are the best thing in my life and I swear to god I will feel the exact same way about you that I do right now for as long as I live. I love you, Lou. I will always love you. I will never _not_ love you. Never, ever, ever.”

Louis raised an eyebrow, a little smile playing on his lips. “Is that a challenge?”

“No,” Harry said softly, his eyes full of fondness. He pressed a tender kiss to Louis’ forehead. “It’s a promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i'd love to hear what you're thinking, if you want to leave a comment or hit me up on tumblr at [hustleandsin](http://hustleandsin.tumblr.com/) that would be amazing. also you can follow me there for updates and occasional pretty pictures  
> also [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/786453) is a recent oneshot of mine if you want to check it out x


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